


Cast in Iron (molded by youth)

by ModernMutiny



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (the movies did some characters dirty all right?), Alternate Universe - Chefs, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Language of Flowers, M/M, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark Friendship, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark-centric, also Janet Van Dyne is mentioned and that's the comics version, and sort of Clint, inspired by Burnt (2015), minor Michelle Jones/Peter Parker/Harley Keener, same with Hank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27140557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernMutiny/pseuds/ModernMutiny
Summary: Tony Carbonelli, once the rising star in the culinary centre of the world, dropped off the face of the earth years ago. Now he's back and raring to go, looking to get a fresh start and finally earn the top accolade a chef could be granted - a Michelin Star.Well, that, and if he managed to win the heart of his long-time crush Rhodey, then alls the better.It's a chef AU! Complete with gratuitous French, angsting over recipes, and possibly too many food metaphors. Heavily inspired by Burnt (2015), written for the 2020 IronHusbands Big Bang.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28
Collections: Ironhusbands Big Bang 2020





	1. The Start of Something New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hell yes it’s a High School Musical reference, I’m gay. This fic was written for the 2020 IronHusbands Big Bang, with a lovely moodboard by Purple_ducky00 (Who also wrote two fics for the event, which I absolutely recommend if you like pirate AU’s and/or birthday celebrations)

Tony put down his spoon and sighed, wiping at his face with a napkin. He flagged down the waitress.

“Is there a problem, sir?”

She was young, terribly so, with rosy cheeks and a chip on her shoulder, if the steel behind her words was any indication.

Tony eyed the girl’s wrist braces and crooked bowtie. “What’s your name, kid?”

She stuck out her jaw like she had something to prove. “Skye.”

Tony hummed. “Well, Skye. Do me a favour, would you?”

“Sure, I’m happy to help.”

Suddenly she seemed older, more serious. There was potential there for a good waitress if someone were to take the time to uncover it. “Go find your maîtresse and tell her the eggs are crap. They look like clown’s eyes staring up at me.”

Skye’s face hardened, but her words didn’t sound as stubborn as her eyes looked. “I’m sorry, sir. I can tell the chef if you’d like.”

“No, no. No need for that.” Tony clicked his tongue, thinking for a second, then pulled out a sharpie from his pocket and scribbled a note on his menu. _Hey Pep_ , he wrote in his usual scrawl, _mind lending me an ear?_

He handed the note off to Skye. “Give that to your boss, Miss Potts. She’ll understand.”

She took the note with slightly shaky hands. Tony got the sense that the shaking was due to something other than nervousness. “Yes, sir. I’ll be right back.”

She strode off on gangly limbs, only barely avoiding a head-on collision with a runner leaving the kitchen.

Tony sat back in his chair once more, watching the dining room. The space was good – a little old-fashioned, but the layout was nice. Open, with big windows and a clear and centred entrance. He would move around the tables, of course. Repaint the walls, change out the lighting so it wasn’t so soft and sleepy. The kitchen would probably have to be gutted, too. But, when Pep gave him the restaurant, at least he would have something to work with. He just had to convince her, first.

Speaking of, Pepper stomped over to his table much more quickly than he’d given her credit for, looking sharply beautiful as always. Her hair was less strawberry blonde and more ginger now – she must have stopped dyeing it at some point, good for her – and there were indents around her eyes that weren’t there before. She’d gotten old, the past few years. They both had.

“Tony,” She smiled at him, all acid, “I thought you were dead.”

“Oh?” He fixed his watch, glancing quickly at Skye standing steadfast behind her, like a low budget bodyguard.

Pepper pulled out the chair from the opposite side of his table, sitting down with as much grace as she’d ever possessed. “There were rumours, you know. That you’d overdosed in Amsterdam somewhere, passed out in a ditch with a needle in your arm.”

Tony smiled despite himself, huffing out a short laugh. “I’m liking this new restaurant of yours. Very hipster chic.”

Pepper’s thin mouth softened as she closed her eyes for a moment. She waved a hand back at Skye, who was still glaring in Tony’s direction. “Leave us.”

The girl gave him one last glower before making a quick exit, leaving the pair alone in the crowded restaurant.

The people around them muttered and had their conversations, but Tony didn’t mind them. All that mattered was this moment, the light shining off Pepper’s hair and the heavy slope to her shoulders. She wasn’t happy, now. He didn’t think she had been for a while. 

“I’m clean.” He said, loosening his watch just to fasten it again. Anything to take away some of the heat from her gaze, even through her closed eyelids. “Three years, two weeks, four days. I’m sober, and I’m ready to jump back in. Take what’s mine.”

She opened her eyes once again, her stare boring into him. “And what, exactly, would that be?”

“My third star.”

Pepper laughed humorlessly, shaking her head. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Tony, but you don’t have _any_ stars right now. You don’t even have a restaurant, and I doubt anyone would be stupid enough to give you one. Not after Paris, after you ruined Edwin’s kitchen like that.”

The mention of Jarvis stung, but he soldiered on. “That’s why you’re going to give me this one.”

Pepper blinked at him, owlish in that way that told him she wanted to neatly pop his smirk off his face and throw it in the nearest garbage disposal. “Are you high? Or drunk, or stoned, or some new form of messed up only you could think up?”

He levelled her a look, that slate grey glare that he’d learned from her, years ago. “I told you, Pep. I’m clean.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” She snapped, manicured nails tapping dully against the cloth-covered table, “And stop calling me that. My name, if you’ve forgotten, is Virginia.”

He looked out into the restaurant, the tables all full of mid-tier businessmen with overbearing bosses and no future in which they achieved what they truly wanted. That was Tony’s greatest fear, if he were honest with himself. Not failure, or death, or anything so mundane, but mundanity itself. Becoming content, ordinary, a brief stain upon the world before being washed out like the grease on yesterday’s chef’s coat. “Your chef thinks it’s okay to reheat yesterday’s soup for five hours before serving it and he sent out cold eggs with overcooked veg. You need someone in the back of the house that’s worthy of the quality you put out in the front of the house, Miss Potts.”

Pepper clenched her jaw, tapping her nails in a staccato rhythm. “I’m glad you’re not dead, Tony.”

She got up swiftly, straightening the lay of her skirt. She gave Tony one last long look, weighted heavy with the undercurrent of all her messy, illogical emotions that she’d cursed more than once in his presence. They both knew she’d give in eventually, she always did. He was, selfishly, counting on that.

“Some advice, Tony?” She pulled her hair back from her shoulders, sending it falling in soft waves down her back. “If you want to stay alive, you’ll give this up.”

And with that she strode away, heels loud on the polished wood floors.

Some things never changed, and Tony was probably more glad than he had any right to be that Virginia Potts was one of those things.


	2. Brooklyn Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: I was trying to make all the chapter titles lyrics bc I can and I looked and found a song by a band called Brooklyn Boys, and the song is also called Brooklyn Boys. I think they found their niche. I did also give up on that notion eventually, but I think I should get some credit for trying.

Michelin stars were worth more than diamonds, in the restaurant world, more than gold. They were only for the few, the great. Tony knew he was worthy of one, even after his fuck ups in Paris, after he OD’ed and left Jarvis to try and scrape his kitchen back together from the broken pieces Tony left them all in. He would do it right this time, sober with a clean slate. It would be hard, most good things were, but not impossible. Not if he put together the right team.

After Pepper, Tony knew who his next stop should be, but he couldn’t bring himself to go down that road, not yet. He wasn’t stable enough, he lied to himself, to get that knife to the heart all over again.

So he stalled, called up his Aunt Peggy instead to see if she had more of a finger on the pulse of this town than Tony did, after so many years abroad.

She was, luckily, running a little place in Brooklyn that served a mix of all the best European fare. Only a step up from the average American bistro, but then again Peggy’s heart was never in cooking. She got into it all to help her friend, to support Jarvis back when he got up and running, then stuck around for the adventure of it all. That’s what she truly craved, adventure, and the rest she just fell into.

Luckily for Tony, no matter where her heart lied, she would always be the best in the information game.

“So you’re back from the dead, are you?” She still used the exact same colour of lip rouge that she had when he was just a kid, back when he scammed his way into one of the best restaurants in Paris with nothing but his name and a cheeky smile. “You’re much more like Edwin than you give yourself credit for.”

Tony didn’t have much to say to that. He picked up the menu and perused what was on offer, instead. “What’s good here?”

Peggy rolled her eyes and gently pushed his menu back down to the table. “If you thought you had a choice in what you’re eating, then you were dreadfully mistaken.”

Tony chuckled just a little. Peggy’s posh English accent was all but faded by now, but she had always hung onto those little phrases, like dreadful and maddening and a whole host of words that she’d applied to him over the years.

“I missed you, Peggy.” He said, taking in her perfectly rouged lips and impeccably styled 50’s hairdo. “Life wasn’t the same without you over my shoulder, smacking my knuckles for every little thing.”

Peggy huffed good-naturedly. “It’s the only reason you have any morsel of sense, dare I say.”

Well, at least that was easy to concede. “So you said you’ve got someone good here?”

“Almost as good as you thought you were, yes.”

Tony hummed. Someone that good working in a place like this? He knew little out of the way places and even fast food places had their merit, but most chefs had progressed far beyond that step in the ladder before they actually got good. For someone with talent to stay in some tiny little place like this – well, suffice to say Tony wasn’t convinced.

That is, until the one-armed waiter with scruffy hair placed an innocuous-looking plate in front of him consisting of a mid-rare filet of beef and a small ramekin of gratin. 

Tony sampled the beef, first. As ordinary as it looked, the taste almost sent Tony the back to ask for more.

The flavours were precise and clean, with a nutty but almost sweet aroma from the beef. “Is this a Dexter filet?”

Peggy hummed over her own bowl of cioppino. “It is.”

“How did you get your hands on this? I don’t know anyone that still sells Dexter.” Tony asked as he savoured the smooth flavour. 

“My chef has wonderful connections.”

Tony hummed and continued on, tasting at the gratin with a bitten-off moan. It was creamy, artichoke and good quality cheese laid in layers of almost al dente potatoes. Just enough to give a little resistance and add some texture to them. The balance of cheese to acid was a little off – well, more than a little – but the salty-sweetness of the beef almost made up for it.

Peggy and Tony both stayed quiet as they ate.

Tony finished off his plate and sat back, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Why are you giving him to me?”

Peggy was still sipping slowly at her soup. “He’s wasting his talents here. He’s comfortable, too comfortable, and is afraid to ask for more. I want him to have it.”

“Take me to him.”

Peggy nodded and folded her napkin from her lap onto the table with precise movements. She stood and led Tony through the restaurant to the back, into a cramped kitchen barely big enough for four men, let alone the six that were working there.

She led him straight to the meat station, where a man about five feet tall and as scrawny as a squab stood hunched over an open oven. He looked almost liable to snap in two at a harsh breeze. Tony honestly hadn’t realized that there were still people that thin that weren’t homeless or in some overcrowded country somewhere. Certainly not in a kitchen run by Peggy Carter, where Tony knew for a fact that someone was making sure the kid had something to eat every time he walked out the door.

“Rogers! You’ve just received one of the best compliments I’ve ever heard.”

Rogers didn’t acknowledge Peggy at all – a mean feat in itself – but instead moved to close the oven and slice his meat that had been resting off to the side.

“This is Tony Carbonelli,” She continued, unperturbed, “He was something of a rising star, back in the day. He says your filet au gratin was one of the best he’d ever had.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t anything Tony had said aloud.

“What’s your name?” Tony half-shouted over the noise of the kitchen, almost claustrophobic sounding in the confined space.

“Steve,” He answered, occupied now with a sauce bubbling away on the stovetop in front of him.

“Your filet au gratin was impressive,” Tony replied back, leaning over the man to try and get his attention, “But the balance was off. Roast the artichoke a little longer, with some peppercorns and lemon, then throw it in with the cheese and potatoes. It’ll work wonders, I promise.”

Rogers didn’t look up, tasting his sauce instead.

“Hello?” Tony tried. Maybe he was deaf. Or maybe he was just a dick.

Rogers sighed and looked up at Peggy. “This asshole is a friend of yours?”

“A close friend,” Peggy smiled.

“French?”

“Yeah.”

Tony hated being talked about like he wasn’t there. It was one of his worst neuroses, one he hadn’t found the key to breaking yet. “Maybe add some asparagus to the filet sauce. Why not?”

Steve kept staring straight at Peggy. “Yeah. An arrogant asshole, is what he is.”

Peggy just shrugged, still smiling. “The same has been said about you, if I recall. Many times.”

“I’ve got an offer for you,” Tony shouted, not waiting for Steve to look up, “I’ll leave the time and place with Peggy. Meet me if you’re interested.”

Steve shook his head and went back to work, not once acknowledging Tony. That’s fine, the kid had some steel underneath all those chicken bones, which was exactly what Tony was looking for. Besides, he’d come around eventually, especially if Peggy had anything to say about it.

\--

“Wouldn’t think someone like you would ever set foot in a place like this.” 

Tony hadn’t noticed him come through the door – not surprising, at his stature – but it wasn’t unexpected. If Steve hadn’t made the decision to meet up with him on his own, Peggy would have browbeaten him into it eventually. He’d never met anyone as stubborn as her, and he grew up around CEOs and engineers and French chefs, some of the world’s most bull-headed people.

“This place is easy, accessible, and cheap.” Tony wiped off his face, placing his half-eaten cheeseburger down on the plastic tray. “Plus they don’t kick you out if you talk to yourself, which, for me, is crucial. Sit down.”

Steve twitched his jaw, but did as he was told. Something told Tony that he did it more because he wanted to, and not at all because Tony said so. Good, he needed chefs with some backbone. 

Steve crossed his arms. They looked like twigs, and Tony was suddenly concerned the kid might not make it in a high stakes kitchen. Then again, if he couldn’t, Peggy wouldn’t have sent him Tony’s way. “I looked you up, you know. Couldn’t find barely anything except what you did with Chef Jarvis. Makes me wonder how you got there.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What do you think happened?”

“From the way you carry yourself, I’d say you’re a rich asshole who got cut off from daddy’s fortune and had to make due, having no idea how the world really works. No thoughts in your head for the little guy.” Steve sat forward, pressing his thin fingers into the laminate of the tabletop. “You think you can just push people around and they’ll do whatever you say. Well, that’s not me.”

This guy had every marker of a good chef: a solid palate, a fire behind the eyes, and an impressive array of scars up and down his forearms. Something was missing, though. There was a fight there, sure, but no deep-seated desire to be the best. He was content where he was, angry at Tony for suggesting he leave. Tony just didn’t understand. Someone who was content with mediocrity, yet had the skill and talent to move higher? It just didn’t make sense.

“You want some lunch?” He asked instead, gesturing to the meal in front of him.

Steve frowned. “You know, I grew up on places like this, but you? With your fancy outfits and big head? I thought you’d be the type to spit out anything that didn’t taste like gold.”

Tony hummed. “You know why people don’t like fast food?”

“People like you, you mean?”

This was going to be more of an uphill struggle than Tony had anticipated. “Because it’s food for the working class.”

Steve sat back, crossing his arms again. “So?”

“Most high-class chefs can’t justify why it costs $500 more to eat at a place where we work than it does at a place like this. I bet you can, though. I’m willing to bet you’ve thought a lot on this, struggled with it for longer than you’d like. Something in you can’t shake that feeling that this is where you started and this is where you’ll always be, but that’s not true.” Tony picked up his burger again, ready to take another bite. “So go on, enlighten me. Why can’t they charge what I do for their food?”

Steve shrugged. “Too much fat and salt and cheap cuts of meat?”

Huh. He’d thought Steve would be smarter than that. “You just described most classic French peasant dishes. Burger King is peasants doing what peasants do, giving a cheap cut a little style. Goulash, bourguignon, cassoulet…should I go on?”

“So what, you’re telling me that every poor kid flipping burgers is the next Picasso that just needs a little guidance, is that it? You trying to teach me about food, now?” Steve ground out, pouting his lips. He looked like a little kid like that. No wonder he had steel in him, he was probably bullied to the ends of the earth.

“What I’m telling you is that the difference between a Whopper and a dish at Le Cinq is simpler than that. It’s consistency. A place like this,” Tony gestured to the packed restaurant around them, “Is too consistent. Consistency is death.”

Steve squinted, like Tony had just told him aliens were real they invented sour cream. “Consistency is what we all work towards.”

“No, see, that’s why, despite all your talent, you’re stuck at minimum wage, cooking for a brasserie that’s defined by its reviews on Yelp.” Tony crumpled up the wrap from his burger, leaning in towards Steve. “A chef strives to be consistent in experience, but not in taste. Innovation is key, but each innovation needs to be made in a way that the takeaway for the diner is the same. It’s like sex.”

“How did I know you were headed there?” Steve rolled his eyes.

Tony sighed. “With sex, your goal is always the same place, the same satisfaction, but you have to find new and dangerous ways of getting there. If you stick with missionary your entire life you end up divorced and alone with three kids by thirty.”

Steve shook his head, getting up from the table. “I wish I could say it was nice to see you again, Mr. Carbonelli, but I’m fine where I am.”

He left swiftly, leaving Tony sitting alone once again. One good thing came out of it, though – he had piqued Steve’s curiosity, Tony was sure of it. If Steve was worth anything as a chef, that curiosity would send him to Tony before long. It was all just a waiting game, but that’s how it was with the best chefs, and it was almost always worth the wait.


	3. Fresh Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^Endgame quote. Fun Fact of the chapter is that in the movie the plot is based on the kid explains Michelin stars as Star Wars characters and I was very tempted to follow suit here but A. I couldn’t fit it in nicely and B. I actually have never watched any star wars except the first two of the new series and everything I know about the plot comes from fucking around in lego star wars. So. There's that.

Tony was at a sort of impasse, now, as he waited for Pepper to come around. He had a rotisseur, and his poissonier would be out of jail by the end of the week. He could find an entremetier on any street corner, but what he was really hurting for was a saucier. Well, that and a sous, but that card was staying in his back pocket for now. If he couldn’t get his old sous chef back…well it didn’t bear thinking about.

So he focused on the saucier instead. He set up an algorithm to check any and all types of reviews online for places in New York with the best sauces, gravies, anything beyond the basics of the dish. The stuff that made a good dish shine. 

As soon as the search came to fruit – a list of about five places worth checking out – he mentally thanked his father for forcing him into those computer engineering classes as a kid; the only worthwhile thing Howard had even done for him – and set out.

The first three places were a bust – canned sauces or simply-made classics that dazzled the masses – and the fourth place only did the mother sauces paired with a weird fusion menu. An interesting idea, Tony supposed, but nothing he would want to touch with a ten-foot pole. And so his last hope was a tiny little diner in Queens, purporting the best pies in the business.

It might be worth hiring on a patissier, somewhere down the line, but not yet. He couldn’t even think about that until after he rounded out his kitchen staff.

He seated himself, like the sign up front told him to, reluctantly looking past the less-than-promising interior. It looked like someone had gone out of their way to recreate an old 50’s style American country diner, with the red and white checkered tablecloths and little jars of homemade jams sitting on the table as decoration. There were even a few taxidermy heads around, a cougar and a moose and some weird little lizard sitting frozen on the edge of the pass in the open-faced kitchen. The cooks all seemed to be ancient, probably kicked from a real restaurant for not being able to keep up any longer, minus a few teenagers who had probably just gained their first chest hairs.

Maybe he wouldn’t find a saucier, after all.

“Can I get you started, sir?”

The waitress that sauntered up was older, but not unattractive. Long straight hair, tortoiseshell glasses, and a look about her that she felt much younger than she looked. If he were into women, he might have asked for her number.

“I’ve heard you’ve got top of the line sauces here, is that true… May?” He asked after a quick check of her nametag.

She smiled, and there was surprisingly something real in it, buttery and soft. “That’s all my nephew’s boo, Harley. He’s a good kid, and a great cook.”

Tony hummed, holding back all the snarky comments that sprung to mind. “Well, I’ll have whatever he recommends, then.”

“Coming right up!” She half-jogged away, probably to embarrass the kid with her enthusiasm.

Somewhere, deep in the recesses of Tony’s mind, he almost wished his mother had been embarrassing like that. At least it would have shown she cared more about him than her own image. Sure, she was loving and gentle and caring in the ways that counted, most of the time, but there was a reason he left before her and Howard’s funeral. As much as she cared, she cared more about what the public thought of her. He wished, seeing this mother with her ridiculous outfit and cheesy praise, that his mother had cared a little less what people thought, and more about making sure Tony knew how she felt.

But all that was in the past, and his next meal was the present.

“It’s something off-menu,” May half-whispered conspiratorially as she set the plate down in front of Tony. “Says he made it special, just for you.”

Either people didn’t ask for the kid specifically very often, or Tony was more recognizable than he’d thought. He thanked her with a wave, pretending to ignore the way she hung around within earshot to see what he thought.

The dish was simple-looking – a clean, probably quite boring omelette with a light blanket of chimichurri sauce as well as a cheap plastic cup of another sauce on the side, this one a reddish-brown that was probably their famous red-eye gravy.

Tony picked up his fork and dug in without pretense, going for the omelette first. The egg itself was as simple as it seemed, just whipped eggs with salt, white pepper, and a young cheddar inside. That sauce, though…

Tony sat back in the cheap plasticky booth, rubbing at his beard. The chimichurri was fresh, with just enough spice. The garlic was present, but not overpowering, and there was enough lime to cut the heaviness of that garlic while not overshadowing the tame parsley. It added a good kick of spice and acid and freshness to the flat flavours of the omelette. The kid knew how to show off his strengths, at the very least.

He dipped the flat end of his fork in the gravy, licking it off thoughtfully. He’d really utilized the aroma of the espresso, there, treating it as more than just a kick to the head. He had embraced the bitterness, leaning into it with some red wine, then pulling it back with the sweet jus from the cured ham. It wasn’t the most amazing gravy he’d had, but it showed a good palate and a knack for balance.

Tony waved down the waitress, who had never left the six-foot radius near his table. She was there before he could lower his arm.

“How was it? Did you like the gravy? It’s a special invention of his, he buys the wine himself to add to the gravy since the owner won’t fork up for it.” She was so eager for his review it almost hurt to look at.

Tony nodded, pushing the plate away from him. “I want to talk to him.”

Her eyes lit up. She shoved her notepad into her apron and grabbed at Tony, pulling him up and pushing him out the door. “He can meet you in the alley out back, so Joe doesn’t see.” She gave him one last shove out the door with a wink.

She was…interesting.

Tony smirked and sauntered over to the alley, fiddling with his watch. This was a familiar scene, the back alley behind the restaurant, surrounded by empty boxes and dumpsters and tobacco. His fingers itched for a cigarette.

As if on cue, the kid pushed open the heavy steel door, almost falling down the step. He was as thin as a rail – what, did they not feed cooks anymore? – but with broad shoulders and a tilt to his jaw that told Tony his thinness was more because of long hours sweating over a stove than it was lack of nutrition. He was young, distressingly so, but hid it well behind hard eyes and a challenge in his stance. Somebody hurt that kid early on, and it wasn’t as if Tony didn’t know how that felt.

“What kind of wine was it, Madeira?” Tony met the kid’s gaze, before the kid gave him a once-over like he hadn’t quite believed it was actually Tony asking for him until just now.

The kid laughed. “I make minimum wage, I don’t have money for fancy stuff.” He drawled, a true old-school Tennessee accent, and leaned against the brick. “It’s port, five bucks a bottle.”

Right, wine was expensive across the ocean from where it was grown and made. “It was good. Really good.”

The kid nodded a few times, staring hard at Tony. “We studied you in school, you know. My ma gave me every penny to get to a crappy little cooking school, and one of the modern chefs we learned about was you. Your work in Paris, before you went down the deep end. They said you were dead. You were kind of a hero.”

“Hero or god?” Tony asked.

The kid shrugged, frowning. “Does it matter?”

“Would you work for me for free?” Tony stared the kid down until he finally looked up, meeting Tony’s eyes. “Just for the experience, nothing else?”

The kid set his jaw different, frowning slightly just in his eyebrows. “Yeah, yeah I would.”

“Would you pay me? How much would you pay me to work for me?”

The kid’s gaze lost some of its awe he’d tried hard to hide. “I don’t…”

“You’re good with food, kid, but I need to know if you can fight back in the kitchen,” Tony explained, “A cook would pay me every penny to learn from me. A chef would tell me to fuck off. I’m all out of spots for cooks.”

The kid nodded, pulling himself up straighter. “Fuck off, then.”

Tony shook his head. The kid didn’t have enough conviction yet, but could get there. Probably.

“That was pathetic. Say it like you mean it.”

The kid licked at his teeth, rolling his eyes. “Fuck off, old-timer.”

“All right, then. That was good.” Tony tilted his head. Maybe he could capitalize on this kid’s hero-worship. “One last question, this one’s the most important. Do you have a spare couch I could crash on?”

“Is this still a test?” The kid frowned.

Tony just laughed. As much as he would be a great saucier, he would be so much more fun to mess with.

“No, kiddo. Not a test.”

\--

The kid’s name was Harley, and his place was, suffice to say, a tragedy. It was a one-room shithole in Queens of all places that he shared with his boyfriend Peter, who was a photographer and part-time prep cook at some pizza place. The only thing separating the bedroom from the kitchen was a hollow bookshelf only half-full of cheap cookbooks and random knick-knacks he’d probably picked up at a garage sale somewhere just so his shelves didn’t seem so empty. He didn’t even have a couch for Tony to sleep on, offering up the bed instead.

The couch or lack of didn’t matter, anyway. Tony didn’t plan on sleeping, he mostly just needed a kitchen to keep messing with ideas for his menu. He cooked most of the night, ignoring how Peter questioned Harley within an inch of the kid’s life about why the fuck Tony was there. At least Peter had some semblance of who Tony was, or the whole thing might have turned out even more awkward than it did.

Tony repaid them both with what was probably the most amazing omelettes they would ever eat in their lives.

“So,” Peter slurred through about three hours of sleep and a strong Queens accent, “I hear you’re looking to hire Harley.”

Harley himself was busying himself with his omelette like it was the last thing he’d ever eat.

“I am,” Tony answered as he made himself a quick smoothie with the bags of frozen fruit Harley had stocked his freezer with. “Why, you think he shouldn’t work for me?”

“No,” Peter said, mouth still full of food as he shovelled it down in between sentences. “I think you’re awesome, and I think you know that. I also think that makes you dangerous.”

Tony quirked a small smile. “Gotta say, from the looks of you I wasn’t sure you could fight your way out of a wet paper bag,” He waved a vague hand around Peter’s small frame and boyish face, the way his eyes were so big they looked liable to fall right out of his face, and everything else that made him come off as a particularly weak-spined twelve-year-old. “But you’re just full of surprises, huh?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I hate my boss, and I’m looking for a new job. You need dishwashers, right?”

It was never a good idea to hire a couple, Tony knew, but maybe Harley’s brashness could inject a backbone into Peter. That, and he really did need dishwashers. “Sure, kid. But if you break a dish, I’ll have you out on your ass before you can say ‘shmuck.’”

“Fair enough.” 

Harley finished up the rest of his omelette and kissed his boyfriend on the cheek. “I gotta go swing by Luis’. Don’t let this geezer give you too much trouble.” He said to Peter, ruffling the kid’s hair. Harley looked at Tony. “I’ll see you on Monday, old man.”

Tony rubbed at the bridge of his nose. That was definitely a mistake. 

Peter sat quietly at the counter in front of his half-eaten breakfast, twiddling with his fork “So, um. You’ve really got a job for me, then?”

“If you gather up some self-esteem before then, yeah.” Tony cleaned up his pans and dishes, throwing them all in the sink with a hefty amount of soap and hot water. If Peter wanted to be a dishwasher, he could start with the dishes in his own sink.

Tony walked over to the lone armchair in what was probably supposed to be the living room, grabbing his bag and knives.

Peter had found some confidence and stood, getting in between Tony and the door. “Wait, wait, you’re just leaving? Where am I going to be working? When am I going to be working?”

Sighing, Tony grabbed the nearest pen and paper – a receipt for fruit snacks, of all things – and scribbled down an address. “Be here at 10 am next Monday. Bring your boy toy.”

He handed off the receipt to the bewildered boy, then grabbed his knives off the table where he put them. It was past time he fixed some of his mistakes, and he couldn’t do that while hiding out in some grungy bachelor pad. 

Tony took one last look once he was already mostly out the door, levelling Peter with a no-nonsense glare.

“Don’t be late.”


	4. We Both Know What We Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton’s on Disney Plus now, sue me. Fun Fact, from what I can remember + what I can ascertain from the internet, the cost of a trip to the ER in France is equal to about $85 on the expensive end, plus the cost of treatment. Tony’s trip would have cost him nothing since it was a work-related incident, but if it weren’t it would have rounded out to about $115 for everything included. Living in America at the moment, that fact is not fun at all and in fact makes me quite upset.

“You know, you’re one of my biggest regrets in life.”

Tony laughed, sitting heavily next to Christine as she grabbed a bite at a street taco place. They had a complicated relationship, most days, but Tony had to admit he found her overwhelmingly refreshing. She was always blunt, beautiful, and most of all, she was always, always right. She reminded him of Pepper, in a way, but more ambitious. Pepper capitalized on the opportunities given to her, but Christine Everhart created her own opportunities.

“I say to myself sometimes, late at night,” She continued, gesticulating with her taco, “Christine, you’re a lesbian. He’s gay. Why in the world did you sleep with him?”

“I’m bi, actually, and we were drunk,” He answered. Everyone always got that wrong for some reason, the bi bit. He didn’t think it was that difficult to understand, he liked girls and guys and everything in between, but everyone assigned him to one camp, gay or straight, depending on which relationship of his they found most memorable. It was frustrating, especially coming from a fellow queer like Christine. “But really, you were the first person to really surprise me in a long time. That, and I’ve often been told that I have a certain irresistible charm.”

Christine hummed, biting into her taco.

“You want a better meal than this, free of charge?” He fiddled with his watch.

She gave him a side-eye stronger than even Pepper’s. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” He shoved his hands in his pockets to stop himself from fiddling so much, “You get a great meal, a great review for your publication, nothing more. You might be helping me out just a bit, but that’s secondary. Don’t let it colour your response.”

“How does it help you?” She asked, wiping her face with a napkin and paying for her meal in one smooth motion.

Tony shrugged. “You’ll be putting a little pressure on the owners of said restaurant. Enough to make them crack a little, take up some of my offers.”

Christine scrutinized him, biting at her lip. “I would usually say no, for no other reason than it benefits you.”

“Understandable.” 

She had gotten a lot of publicity off him, back in the day, but for all the wrong reasons. She didn’t trust him, never could. That’s what happens when you get paid off to not run any incriminating stories about a certain someone. Tony didn’t do the paying, of course, that was all Howard, but no one would believe him. Well, Christine would, but that was only because she was a hell of an investigative reporter, and the only one who knew his real last name, and the true reason he went to Paris all that time ago.

“But,” She conceded, throwing her purse onto her shoulder, “My column has been looking a little sparse lately. A new story on Tony Carbonelli might do the trick.”

She said his last name like it was poison on her tongue. It probably was – she was allergic to lies and half-truths.

“Know this,” She poked a finger hard into the spot in the middle of his chest that still ached sometimes. “I won’t be pulling my punches. I’m staking my name on this, so if you fuck up, then I’ll say so.”

Tony smirked at her, gathering her hand in both of his. “That also means that if I do amazing, which I will, then you’ll print that instead.”

Christine wrinkled her nose at him. She took her hand back gracefully. “Text me the address, I’ll get a six ‘o’clock reservation.” 

“Thanks a bunch, Berkeley.”

She rolled her eyes as she walked away. “We both know it’s Brown, Carbonelli.”

Trust Christine to always keep things exciting.

\--

Six ‘o’clock rolled around quicker than Tony planned for, and he was almost late to make his quick rescue. Almost.

He snuck in the service door, listening closely for Pepper’s terse tone coming down the hall. 

“Who is Chris- Christine Everhart? You don’t know Christine Everhart? From the Bulletin?” It sounded like she was berating a waiter, her Louboutins clacking on the floor closer and closer to Tony. “She’s going to tear this place apart. We’re finished.”

And that was his cue.

“I wouldn’t say finished, necessarily.” Tony stepped out around the corner, smirking. Pepper’s face was murderous. “Just in need of a little assist. Like basketball, you know? You got it all the way down the court, nice job, but now I’m here at the net to tip it in. At least I’m pretty sure that’s how basketball works, I’ve never played it.”

Pepper rubbed at her eyes. “I hope you know that I actually did play basketball, in college. We got third in the division my junior year.”

“So you know what I’m talking about!” Tony stepped forward, arms outstretched. “You need me, I’m here, looks like the fates aligned.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” She refused to look him in the eyes, shaking her head in the direction of her clipboard, instead.

“Believe it or not, I get that a lot.” He smirked. If she was resorting to base insults, that meant she had already given in.

She looked to the waiter, who was still behind her, shuffling his feet. “Go take care of her, will you? I’ve got this.”

The waiter nodded almost violently and scurried off.

Pepper finally looked Tony in the eyes. “This means nothing.”

Tony smirked. “Of course not.”

He turned around and headed to the kitchen to see what they had in stock. Pepper followed him in, presumably to sort things with her joke of a head chef, but Tony paid her no mind.

They had a hanger steak on the menu, he knew, so he grabbed a raw cut of beef and seasoned it, then threw it in a hot pan to sear. On the side, he started rummaging through their prep bins, checking out the vegetables they had already cut. He grabbed some tomatoes and mushrooms, throwing them in with the steak.

“Can I have some rosemary over here? And some butter?”

The prep cook next to him hesitated, but Pepper overruled his indecision. “Do what he says.” She sounded exasperated. Better than angry, he supposed.

A second later he had butter and rosemary on his station, which he threw in with the steak. In another pan, he threw in sliced potatoes, butter, oil, garlic, and red onion.

A cook appeared at his side to take care of his potatoes while he started on other things. Tony did his level best not to flinch away. “Don’t touch anything.”

The cook scurried away, presumably to make themself look busy, and Tony got back to his dish, rolling his neck to work out some of the tension that had suddenly made itself known.

He let his steak and potatoes to cook, then grabbed a mortar and pestle that looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. In went garlic, basil, mint, and parsley, which he ground up into a paste. Then he added oil, red wine vinegar, and honey, and a handful of other ingredients to make a quick chimichurri. He multitasked, flipping the steak while he mixed the sauce. As soon as the potatoes were done, he sent someone to run them up to the pass, while he followed with the steak and sauce.

It was a simple dish, he knew, but it was also simply perfect. He plated it with a keen eye, something the reigning chef clearly didn’t have, and sent it out, ignoring whatever it was Christine had ordered, if she even did. He knew what she liked, and he had a feeling she wouldn’t like anything on the menu anyhow.

As soon as his dish went out, he leaned back and wiped his forehead with a rag. His shirt was stained with sweat, his jeans sticking uncomfortably to his thighs. He probably looked a mess, but it didn’t matter. He was a good ten steps closer to gaining Pepper’s trust than he was beforehand.

He walked off the line and out the service door, waiting in the alley for Pepper to come out with a verdict. 

There was a certain rhythm to the kitchen when it was running well, he mused as he looked down at the litany of cigarette butts carpeting the alley. The call and response, the beat of appetizers to entrees and back, the way each dish had its own melody, everything working in tandem. Even smoke breaks had a sense of music to them, chefs tapping each other in and out to get their fix. It was like a well-oiled machine, done right. A mix of art and engineering. Maybe that was why he was so enamoured with it. It reminded him of himself.

His childhood was a constant struggle between the music of his mother – her soft singing over the piano in the hall, her and Obie teaching him to play by ear, to read music, to hear the song of everything – and his father – spending hours in his lab, crafting brand new inventions, seeing the world come together in perfect puzzle pieces before him. Tony took to each equally well, gaining a mind for creation as well as an eye and ear for beauty. Food, he found early on during late nights with his family’s cooks, became the perfect marriage of the two. 

When things got bad, he ran straight to the kitchens, and that held true all through his life. It was a stroke of fate, really, that his father abandoned him in Paris, the center of culinary creations in the world. It was even luckier that he fell on Jarvis’ doorstep, that the man was childless and eager to take him in, that he stocked his kitchen with all sorts of misfits like Tony and Natasha and Hank and Justin and Rhodey.

Rhodey.

Just the thought of him sent a shock through Tony’s chest. James Rhodes was his first love, the only man that could get Tony to stop for a moment, to calm down and see the world for what it was, instead of his dreams of what it could be. They were just kids when they met, Tony barely fifteen to Rhodey’s twenty, but that never stopped their brotherly bond, nor Tony’s intense crush.

To say it was a crush seemed almost inadequate. It was a crippling hunger for Rhodey’s presence, for any scrap of his attention. Even now, thinking of him, Tony’s heart lurched and skipped beats. He was almost thirty, for God’s sake, and he was still falling over the thought of the man like he was a teenager again.

The door behind him banged open, the click of heels stepping out. Tony must have been lost in thought longer than he’d realized.

“Meet me in my office.” Pepper said tersely, still holding her ubiquitous clipboard.

Tony grinned. That was her ‘I hate you for being right’ voice. “Be right there, honey.”

She sighed and went back inside, closing the door behind her.

Time to really get the ball rolling.

Tony waited for a few beats, then followed Pepper back inside, finding her in her office. It was smallish and neat, an almost perfect representation of the woman herself. There were bookshelves filled with everything from murder mysteries to biographies to cookbooks and everything in-between, and half a dozen massive filing cabinets took up the side wall, no doubt filled with every menu and recipe and every review ever written concerning the place filed away neatly by date and type. The large desk on the far wall took up a good chunk of the space in the room, and if Tony remembered correctly it was the same desk she’d kept in her shoebox apartment in Paris, some antique she’d gotten at a steal and never lost sight of even a country and a decade away.

Pepper herself was leaning over the desk, writing in crisp shorthand on a legal pad, probably working out the logistics of the baton-pass about to happen.

“Close the door, would you?”

Tony complied, leaning back against the door once it was shut. “So, I take it that I’m back in.”

Pepper sighed, finishing her line with a flourish and placing her pen parallel to the paper. “You’re a migraine waiting to happen, is what you are.”

“Come on, Pep,” Tony smiled at her, “This place needs someone who knows what they’re doing, not the Swedish Chef you’ve got running the place into the ground. Admit it, I’m right this time.”

“For once,” She rubbed at her eyes, “And for your information: Scott is a solid chef, not a muppet.”

Tony stepped forward, throwing his hands to the side as if presenting himself as her prize. “But you don’t want solid, you want great. That’s why I’m here.”

“Oh, did you walk in before or after your giant ego?”

“It’s not ego if it’s La Parisien saying it.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking aimlessly around the room. “What did they call me? Ah, yes, le Da Vinci de la cuisine.”

Pepper’s face dropped into something dangerously serious. “I didn’t call you back here to see how big your head has gotten. I want you as my chef, I do, but we need to figure out how to sell this to the board. That, and I’m assuming you’ll want to build your own staff.”

Tony walked up to one of the comfy chairs near the bookcases and plopped down into it. “Well the board will be easy, this place is probably technically mine anyways, according to bylaws or trusts or some legal bullshit. I might have to reach out to Obie a little sooner than I planned, I was going to wait until I actually got the stars, you know, better forgiveness than permission, but I will if I have to. The staff is a little trickier, but I’ve got some plans to get the old boy band back together.”

“I know you think you can have whatever you want, but the hotel is not yours just because you say so.” Pepper bit out tersely. Her voice was blase, writing him off. That...was not the response of someone who knew what he was talking about.

Tony’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit, you don’t know.” 

He’d thought Pepper looked it up years ago and just never brought it up. That, or she’d known all along and humoured him. The fact that she didn’t, kind of blindsided him. Probably not as much as he was about to blindside her, but still.

“Pep, my real name’s not Tony Carbonelli,” He started slowly, gauging her reaction. She had an odd look on her face, but it didn’t seem angry, so he kept going. “I’ve told you about my dad, right? How he was a bastard? Well, he wasn’t just any old asshole, he was Howard Stark.”

“Excuse me?” She asked, “Howard didn’t have children.”

Tony shrugged and looked anywhere but Pepper’s face. “Yeah, well, he didn’t want me capitalizing off the family name, so he hid me away. It didn’t matter in the end, since as soon as he dumped me in Paris at fifteen I changed my name anyways, but I have paperwork and everything proving it, somewhere.”

“So,” Pepper paused, probably doing some complicated legal work in her head, “you’re the heir to an empire. You’re insanely rich.”

Okay, maybe not complicated legal work. Tony couldn’t blame her anyways, it’s a lot to dump on someone you’ve known for half your life.

“Well, I would be if Howard hadn’t had me declared dead and liquidated my trust.” Tony scratched at his beard. “But if I find the legal documents, wherever they are, I can probably convince Obie to help me get it back. Or I could get a lawyer to get it back.”

Pepper was quiet for a long time, and after a while, Tony chanced a glance at her face. She seemed stuck, almost. Like Tony was a puzzle that she couldn’t quite figure out now that she had all the pieces.

“I just- I never knew.” She started shaking her head, leaning back in her chair like her whole world just got turned on its head. Well, Tony supposed, it kind of did. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

There was a weight to before that pointed to not just their history, but their history back when they had dated because Pepper was in love with him and Tony was trying to get over Rhodey. It didn’t work out, they were too different, but they parted amicably enough that their friendship was largely unchanged. But the fact was they did date, for not an insignificant amount of time, and he’d never told her.

“I honestly thought you knew!” Tony shrugged. “You know everything, so I thought you just didn’t talk about it because I never brought it up.”

“Obviously, I didn’t.”

He threw his hands in the air in frustration. “It’s not like it’s hard to find out, just a quick background check and it’s all there. It was in file at Jarvis’ that he made after hiring me. It was on my medical records that time you picked me up from the hospital after I needed stitches on my palm. You signed the release forms.”

Pepper scoffed. “I was more concerned about you than I was about what legal name they put on your medical forms. Plus I could barely read French back then, it was a study abroad program!”

“Okay, one: I didn’t speak French either, I was raised with Italian, and two: names don’t change by language, Pep. I should know, I speak eight.”

She rolled her eyes, sighing. “I just want to know why you didn’t think it important to tell me.”

“I don’t know,” Tony half-shouted, getting fed up with the interrogation, “maybe because my dad was a dick that abandoned me to fend for myself before I could even drive, in a foreign country whose language I didn’t speak! Maybe I didn’t want to talk about how much he hated me, how I was never considered a Stark, how I had to fight like hell for every scrap of attention that he gave me, how I was practically raised by his CFO because he had no time for me. Or maybe I just didn’t want to be associated with the shit he did, all the weapons he made, the people he killed. Sure, he owns a hotel in every major city around the world for the perks, and sure I’m trying to capitalize off that now, but that’s not his legacy, Pepper. His legacy is death and destruction and nothing I ever wanted to be a part of.”

Tony stopped to catch his breath, realizing just then that he’d stood up and started pacing during his tirade. He sighed and sat back down, sinking into Pepper’s comfy chair.

“You’re right,” She said, hands folded in front of her like she did when she’d made a big decision, “I haven’t unloaded all my trauma on you, and you have no obligation to do the same.”

Somehow, Pepper had the innate talent of making everything sound like a business deal. Tony wasn’t sure if he appreciated it or not in this instance.

He did start to bristle at the thought of more emotional talk, though.

“Oh?” He smirked, leering at her, “What other secrets do you have to tell?”

She rolled her eyes, getting a sour look on her face. The moment was over, finally. 

“I’ll reach out to our lawyers, see what I can do with the board, but you have to do all the legwork with the staff.” She said as if she didn’t know he’d started already. She would be able to flip the board, get them to go along with it, Tony knew, just by virtue of her super-competence. There’d be concessions, probably, but they’d come around, especially once they got a taste of his menu.

Tony spread his hands in front of him, palms up. “That’s all I wanted.”


	5. Getting the Band Back Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: I’ve never known anyone who went to prison for a fight over upside-down fish, but I did know someone who had to get his ear reattached over a glorified food fight. He was a professional circus clown. They almost didn’t take the ear to reattach because it fell into the chilli for a minute. That was an...interesting dinner

Tony had called ahead, of course, asking when a certain Natasha Romanova was going to be released, but he hadn’t had the chance to speak to the Russian herself. Probably for the best, if the look she gave him as she stalked out of the prison gates said anything.

“Nice bike.”

Tony smiled, tossing her the spare helmet. “It’s not mine.”

She stopped in front of him, giving him an unimpressed look. “Does your boy of the week know you’ve taken it?”

“It belongs to my new saucier, and he’s like twelve.”

She didn’t respond, just made her look more pointed.

“Fine, no, I didn’t ask.”

“There he is.” She squeezed the helmet between her thighs to free up her hands, twisting her hair into some complicated braid. “I’m assuming you need me, then?”

Tony looked off into the distance, at a couple reuniting across the parking lot. That much tongue in public really should have been illegal. “Assault?”

She shrugged, finishing off her braid with a flourish. He had always known her as a redhead, but a good three inches on the end of her hair were an icy blonde, probably having grown out during her time inside. “He plated the fish upside-down. Plus I never liked him, he was an idiot, always flirting with the waitresses during service.”

“Upside-down fish? That was the catalyst?” Tony was sure he would blow up too, that was inexcusable, but to be arrested for assault? In a kitchen? That was a level of violence Tony didn’t think he could ever reach.

“Three times.”

“Ah.” Tony nodded. 

She shoved on the helmet, flipping the visor up to make eye contact with Tony. “Hey, at least I saved his ear. If I didn’t throw it in the fish locker, they’d never have been able to save it. So really, it’s because of me that he’s not grossly deformed.”

Tony just chuckled and leaned back on the bike, helmet still in his hands. “You know where Clint’s at these days? I’m sure Phil’s missing his good eye and I could use another host.”

She gave him a blank look. “Tony, I’ve been in prison for the past three years. How would I know where Clint is?”

Tony didn’t respond, just raised an eyebrow.

“Fine,” Natasha sighed, pushing Tony off the bike so she could climb on in front. “He’s in Bedstuy. I can go pick him up later, after I shower and sleep in a real bed.”

He nodded, throwing his helmet on and climbing on the bike behind her. “I knew you were a super spy.”

He could barely hear her laughter over the roar as the engine started.

\--

Justin Hammer’s restaurant was just as bad as Tony had expected.

He wasn’t there to recruit – he wouldn’t touch any of Hammer’s chefs with a ten-foot pole – but to demoralize the competition. He had a feeling Hammer would come around eventually to try to stick his weaselly nose into Tony’s business, trying to steal recipes or poach wait staff, so he took the initiative to head him off at the pass. Hammer would have used the excuse of wanting to greet Tony back to the land of the living or whatever, so now this is one less lie the man can use.

The space itself was sanitized, all bright and white and bougie. It looked like a huge bag of industrial bleach went off in the set of Star Trek before they went in and added the bells and whistles, white granite and rounded corners, not a single colour in sight. Not in his waiter, who was worryingly pale with jet black hair slicked down to his shoulders like he hadn’t washed it since he graduated high school. Not even, Tony realized once his order arrived, in the food.

He’d ordered a simple filet au jus, expecting nice deep reds and browns and greens from the garnish to paint a picture on the plate. Instead, he got grayish sous-vide meat, cream gravy, and white asparagus tips. It looked like a bad version of biscuits and gravy on a plate, making Tony seriously consider if he had suddenly gone colorblind or not.

“Tony! Thought you could eat here incognito, did you?” Hammer strolled up in a white suit with a navy blue shirt, the only colour in the entire room given the black-tie dress code for the dining room. Not that it mattered to Tony, in his faded AC/DC shirt and jeans half-stained by fryer grease. “One of my waiters spotted you as soon as you came in, I gave them all your description years ago in case you miraculously came back from the dead someday. My maitre d’ thought I was crazy, and yet here you are!”

Tony sighed and picked up the napkin from his lap, throwing it over his half-eaten steak. “Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated, apparently.”

Hammer laughed humorlessly, the sound seeming thin and tinny to Tony’s ears. “You’re funny, you. I always knew you’d be harder to kill than that. Only me and Rhodey ever held out hope.”

The sound of Rhodey’s name in Hammer’s mouth made a shiver crawl down Tony’s spine. Tony was the only one who could call him that, everyone else got James or Rhodes or any other name they could contrive. Rhodey was theirs, special. Hammer mocking it hit Tony the wrong way in a spot he didn’t realize was still sensitive.

“Well, Hammer, I was just in town to check out the competition. Turns out there is none.”

Hammer’s face fell a fraction before popping back up more intensely than it was before. “Competition? Who says we’re competition?”

“The good book, says.” Tony stood up, arbitrarily smoothing out the wrinkles in his t-shirt. “I’m taking over Pepper’s place, and it looks like we’ll be head to head for a third star next time they come around.”

“Pepper’s restaurant doesn’t have any stars,” Hammer explained like Tony was a child. “It’s unheard of in this city to go from nothing to three stars.”

“Well, you always used to say I was a star, Justin. One of a kind.” Tony dropped a hand on Hammer’s shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. Hammer’s eyes wouldn’t stay still to look back, constantly shifting and assessing. Once a rat, always a rat. “Whether I get one or not, I do know one thing for sure. I’ll beat your bathwater boiled meat any day of the week.”

Hammer’s smile got stiff, eyes losing their mirth. “It was nice to see you’re alive, Tony. This has been fun. Do me a favour, will you? Don’t show up here uninvited again.”

Tony gave him one last pat on the shoulder and walked past Hammer and his cronies towards the door. “This was a courtesy, Hammer. Stay out of my way.”

He’d hoped Hammer had grown a spine since Paris, but apparently even that was too much to expect. At least it was nice knowing there was even less competition around than he’d thought. 

\--

Back then, in Paris, it was always just the four of them. Jarvis’ children of a sort, since the man could have none of his own. Tony, Rhodey, Justin, and Natasha, the harbingers of a new culinary age. They all knew, somehow, that the four of them would change the world, but none of them dared to dream what their new world would look like. What that violent overhaul would do to them all.

But here he was again, staring at the one table of one at the café across the street, drinking in the sight of someone who left him, who loved him, who probably would gut Tony if given half a chance, and Tony would thank him for it. 

Tony didn’t deserve the chance to try and ask for forgiveness, but he was going to go for it anyways. And Rhodey, bless his heart, would let him. As much as he probably resented Tony for his drinking and drugs and sluttish ways, he could never deny his friends anything, not when it truly mattered. And if there was anything in Tony’s life that truly mattered, this was it.

But for this moment, for just another few snatches of time, he could watch. See what the man he’d always loved, somewhere in the back of his mind, had turned into.

Rhodey was still beautiful, Tony had to say, for better or worse. He sat there sedately, fingers fidgeting with the cheap stainless steel fork next to an unfortunately shaped ceramic plate. Tony spotted new scars amongst the old, burn marks and thin knife slices, the way his right ring finger was still a few shades lighter than the rest after a particularly nasty run-in with a brand-new mandolin. The golden afternoon light shone off his skin, making Tony feel the same way bourbon used to, all soft and pliant inside. 

Tony felt the deep, incessant urge to drink him down, feel the rough edges of their past burn his throat and settle deep inside him, heavy and almost too hot. He wanted Rhodey to punch him, to bite him, to do anything to make the pain he caused feel real, turned back on him in ways he can’t just ignore, not any longer. He needed Rhodey to lay him out, flay him alive, unbury all his flaws and neuroses just to devour them until there’s nothing left but the shell of what Tony should have been. Something clean and light that they could fill back up together, only adding in all the good and leaving the bad to rot on the sidewalk behind them.

Pepper would probably tell him that was all unhealthy, but Tony didn’t care. All he cared about, right now, was getting that fierce gaze on him, through him, telling him everything he’d denied to himself until now. Rhodey always had a way of cutting deep, twisting the knife until it fixed whatever was broken, deep inside. Tony hadn’t let himself think about how much he’d missed that. And now, here, it was right in front of him. All he had to do was go get it.

He crossed the street with careful steps, ignoring the cars on either side of him. A particularly impatient driver laid on his horn longer than strictly necessary, a fact that Tony ignored but Rhodey didn’t. 

Rhodey looked up at the noise, at the too-big truck that was compensating for something, at Tony with his tailored shirt and worn leather jacket that Rhodey himself had lent to him back when they talked, when they were brothers, when they were in Paris, rough and young and railing against the world.

And then Rhodey sighed, put down his fork. He walked up to Tony, keeping their eyes locked, grabbing Tony by the lapels of what was once his own jacket. He pulled Tony in towards him, out of the street where Tony hadn’t even noticed he had stopped. He tugged them both towards the alley, the look on his face one Tony had never seen before. Almost blank. Almost unfeeling.

As soon as they were out of the way of the pulsing foot-traffic, Rhodey pulled back, giving him a once-over.

“Rhodey, I-“

Tony was cut off when Rhodey pulled him into a crushing hug, like if Rhodey let go that Tony would disappear all over again. Tony just leaned into the hand on the back of his neck, the strong arm around his waist. He could stay here forever.

Then Rhodey pulled back, pushed Tony away, and landed a sharp left hook to the jaw. Tony could feel the blood pooling in his mouth, the sting in his cheek and lip, the blooming warmth on his cheekbone.

“That’s for leaving,” Rhodey growled, eyes hard.

Such a whirlwind of emotion, but that was probably to be expected when ambushing what used to be your best friend for half your life until you overdosed and disappeared for half a decade without telling anyone.

“Yeah, okay. I definitely deserved that.” Tony spit the blood out onto the ground, wiping his mouth. There would probably be blood crusted in his beard for the rest of the day, at least. He looked into Rhodey’s eyes – still terribly cold – and offered up a smirk. “It’s nice to see you, James.”

Rhodey shook his head, wiping a hand down his face in that pesky nervous habit of his. He left a thin smear of Tony’s blood on his cheekbone, just under his eye. “I hate you, you know that right?”

His words held a glimmer of old warmth in them, even if that warmth felt more like a twice-reheated minestrone instead of the sparks that once flew between them.

“You know what they say,” Tony threw out with a sharp tilt of the head, taking in the way little drops of blood covered the back of Rhodey’s cradled fist like a pink mist. “Love, hate, they’re just two sides of the same coin.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes, wiping his fist off on a thin rag he’d retrieved from his back pocket. He was probably working today, then. Taking a break between shifts. “Pepper tried to throw a memorial for you, at one point.”

Tony shrugged. “She always had more heart than sense.”

The fact that she had always loved Tony about as much as Tony loved Rhodey hung unsaid in the air. The entirety of Jarvis’ was an exercise in fucked up love triangles, none completed. The heat and the violence of the kitchen would do that to people, forge those inescapable emotions deep in the recesses of one’s heart. When you worked with the same people for twenty hours a day, dodging knives thrown in anger and words that sliced a little too deep, you formed bonds. You loved too deeply, too sharply, and you all fell apart eventually. The test was never if you stayed together in the kitchen – everyone took their opportunities when they could get them, eventually – but if you could come back to each other, if the broken pieces still fit. A broken plate could almost always be put back together if one had the time and patience. 

Tony had never been a patient man, but Rhodey was always uncovering sides of him no one had ever seen before.

“What are you doing back?” Rhodey asked, with more concern in his voice than he probably meant to allow.

Tony caught Rhodey’s eye, watching as the ice melted just a little, his eyes glowing that shade of sunlit whiskey that kept Tony up at night. “I’m getting my three stars, this time. I want you there with me when I do.”

Rhodey looked away, shook his head, fiddled with the bloodied rag in his hands. The pedestrians moving past the mouth of the alley slowed. Maybe they felt the tension just like Tony did, that this moment could make or break a career, a life, a bond. Maybe, just maybe, they felt the hope that Tony did, settled deep into his bones next to the parts of him that still felt that unbearable, suffocating love for this man in front of him. The love for the cocky sous chef Rhodey used to be, the stoic chef he’d grown into.

Rhodey sighed one last time, pulling his gaze back up to meet Tony’s eyes with more than a little reluctance. There was something in him, Tony knew, telling him to never trust again. To cut and run and leave Tony’s insanity behind. Tony wouldn’t blame him if he did.

“Okay, Tones. Fine.” He licked his lips, stuffing his rag back into his back pocket. “You’ve got me. Where do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and FINALLY we get some Rhodey in here. I didn't want to wait too long, but I needed to lay a little groundwork in there. No worries, he makes an appearance in every single chapter from here on out, I believe.


	6. Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The something blue is Tony's Feelings :(

The dining room renovations would take a few weeks at least, but he made sure Pepper told them to get the kitchen done before anything else so he could get working on the menu as soon as possible. There were a few days he had to spend making a mess of his suite’s kitchenette, deconstructing their room service meals for inspiration and annoying the fuck out of Rhodey with late-night manic phone calls, but by the end of the week the kitchen was ready, and it was time to get back into the swing of things.

He and Rhodey had done a lot of menu building together, back in Paris, but rarely did they actually use their creations at Jarvis’. They had dreamed, idly, of building a restaurant of their own, with their own collection of eclectic dishes that would wow the diners, every time with a different theme. They’d gone through it all together, from new wave Greek to fusions to molecular gastronomy, just to try it. That all, unfortunately, made their job this time around both easier and indescribably more difficult.

“What about a new swing at Italian?” Rhodey suggested, “Take the basics and toss ‘em around, see what new thing we can put together?”

Tony sighed. “This is New York, there’s an Italian place on every street corner.” He pushed off from the counter he’d been leaning heavily against, pacing the pristine, empty kitchen. “We need something new, exciting. Something that will make a statement!”

Rhodey hummed, shifting. They’d been at this for hours, and at some point, Rhodey had laid down on the cold pass, head hanging off the edge to look at Tony upside down. “Anything you come up with will make a statement, Tones.”

“Yeah but the issue is with what that statement is.”

“It’s gonna be that the great Tony Stark is back on the scoreboard.”

“But what if it’s not?” Tony stopped pacing. “What if they say that the ‘Great Tony Stark’ fell off the map. He’s out of the game, no longer relevant. What if they say that?”

Rhodey sighed and pushed up, sitting upright now on the edge of the pass. “They won’t say that, Tones.”

“And what if they do?” Tony rubbed a hand down his face irritably. “I only have one shot at this, Rhodes. I can’t fuck it up.”

Tony didn’t know he was scared of that possibility before it came spewing out of his mouth. He had finally made something of himself back in Paris, finally got to be something other than Howard’s invisible bastard son, and he fucked it all up once. He couldn’t afford to do the same thing again, he wouldn’t get a third chance.

They sat in silence for a moment, both contemplating. 

Rhodey spoke up first. “You’re getting the old band back together, right? So we can do it again, but better this time.”

“Yeah, so?”

“ _ So _ ,” Rhodey intoned, “Let’s do the same with the menu. Go back to the basics, what works, and build up from there. You’re trying to get back what you lost in Paris, I get it, but to do that you’re gonna have to start where you left off then.”

That was...actually a pretty good idea. Leave it to Rhodey to get to the heart of things without even trying. 

“Huh.”

Rhodey smirked, a move that looked different now with the smile lines starting to creep onto his face, but still just as stunning as it did back then. “That’s your ‘Rhodes you’ve got me stumped, you’re so much smarter than me,’ huh. Didn’t think I’d hear that again.”

Tony pouted. “I’ve never said those words in my life.”

“Yeah you did, you said the ‘huh.’” Rhodey gave him a look that could almost be considered leering.

Tony rolled his eyes and looked away so Rhodey couldn’t catch his blush. This was such a bad idea, working so closely with Rhodey again. Tony was bound to go too far, push things like he always did, and end up doing something he couldn’t take back. Like kissing that stupid smug look off Rhodey’s face.

He had to put some distance there before it got too comfortable.

“I’m thinking of hiring Hank as my entremier.”

“And you just had to ruin it.” Rhodey sighed. Before Tony could figure out what exactly  _ that _ meant, Rhodey kept going. “The man despises you, Tones. You really want a guy like that on your team fighting for the biggest prize there is?”

“Yeah about that, why does he hate me again?” He didn’t exactly remember what he did to Hank to get him to harbour so much hatred over Tony, but he did know he was high when he did it.

Rhodey looked at him like he was insane. “You dumped a bunch of ants in his kitchen on opening night, then you called the health inspector.”

“That...doesn’t sound like me.”

Rhodey looked away, up at the ceiling. “He joked about you getting everything handed to you because you were basically Edwin’s kid, that you didn’t have any real talent.”

“Ah,” Tony nodded, “Yeah, see, that sounds more like something I’d do now.”

“What you need to do now is find a different veg cook, because Hank’s not gonna come on board after that.” Rhodey stood up, leaning back against the edge of the counter. “You think I was mad? Wait until you see his face when you get within twenty feet of him. The only reason he’s in New York now is that you ruined him in Paris.”

“Yeah, okay, but here’s the thing,” Tony walked over to lean against the counter less than a foot away from Rhodey. He could feel the heat of the other man’s body on his side. Rhodey always did run a little hot. “Hank’s restaurant is facing a mutiny. For what I hear, his protege is looking to oust him and run in a completely different direction. This is his chance to get out before he’s kicked out.”

“Or he could fight back and keep his place,” Rhodey suggested.

“If he didn’t have the balls to go after me after what I did, there’s no way he’s gonna go after his own surrogate son.” Tony countered. “Plus, he has a kid, apparently, with one of my old friends from before Paris. She was shipped off to boarding school a little while before I showed up in France. Evidently boarding school is code for teen pregnancy, and she only told Hank a year ago when the kid started working in restaurants. I’ll bet he trusts her to keep an eye out and take over if he can’t. She has the balls to do it, at least.”

“Why does everything about your life sound like the next episode of the Real Housewives?” Rhodey sighed. “Anyway, what is this girl, sixteen? Not near old enough to run anything.”

“Right around eighteen, now. Jan was fifteen, Hank was almost nineteen, it was a mess.” Tony remembered the rumours that some dishwasher had tried to ferry Jan away when she was on a trip to the Paris Fashion Week. She almost went with him, but then he hit her and her dad almost got the kid arrested on the spot.

Rhodey was right, his life did sound like a reality TV show.

“Anyway, she’s got the confidence and the know-how, and she’s shaping up to be a better chef than Hank ever was. I think he’ll fold if I bring her up. That, or I could poach her off him. She’s young, and I already have a lot of young kids, so it’s not my best option, but I will if I have to.”

“Man, the restaurant business is never half as crazy when you’re not around.” Rhodey ran a hand over his face, shaking his head. Tony could see the lines of his smile underneath.

“And that, honeybear,” Tony leaned over, bumping his shoulder into Rhodey’s, “Is exactly why you love me.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”

\--

Tony walked up to the tiny little house, taking it all in. The plants seemed to take over the building, falling over the porch and roof, climbing up the walls. There was a laid rock pathway leading to the back, and all the furniture in front was made of natural wood, like they were on some garden island in the Pacific instead of a suburb in Queens. He’d probably spent more time in this borough in the past week than he had in his entire life as a New Yorker before then.

He walked up to the house, double and triple-checking the address. He had a hard time imagining Pepper’s five-inch heels stomping up the uneven, hand-laid slate pathway, accompanied by the symphony of wind chimes rattling softly in the trees.

There was no doorbell, just an old-fashioned knocker in the shape of a large fist, which seemed oddly out of place in the peaceful garden. He reached up and grabbed it, letting it drop heavily to the door with a thud.

A few seconds later, the door opened halfway, revealing a smallish tanned man with a head of brown curly hair and coke bottle glasses. The more Tony looked at him, the more he looked like a stereotypical hermit, with unkempt hair and an olive green linen shirt, khaki pants and no shoes. Or maybe, Tony considered, he looked like a yoga instructor past his prime.

“Anthony?”

Tony hid his flinch. “Tony.”

The man nodded slowly, considering, then opened the door fully. “Tony it is. Call me Bruce, then. I assume you know why you’re here?”

Tony walked into the house, which looked just as woodsy and zen inside as it did outside. “I know Pepper texted me telling me that the only way the board would cave to let me in was to have regular drug tests, then she gave me your address. I can connect the dots from there.”

Bruce hummed, gesturing for Tony to take a seat on what looked to be a hand-crafted wood chair at a matching table. On the table were various medical supplies, some Tony recognized as basic blood-work equipment, others looked complicated enough that Tony strayed away from hazarding even a guess as to what they were for.

“She sent you to me for a few reasons,” Bruce started as he sat carefully across from Tony, “The first being I’m uniquely qualified to provide all the services you and your board require. The second being that I’m incredibly discreet when need be, and she expressed some concern in that area on your behalf. Whether that’s alluding to your popularity in the culinary world or something else, I’ll leave to you to tell me. Just rest assured that Pepper trusts me, and I’m assuming you trust her.”

Tony sat back in his chair, assessing the man before him. Despite his small stature and the way he curled in upon himself, the man had a strong presence. Something about the careful way he spoke and moved betrayed a deeper story there, something hidden away, but Tony also got the sense that it was for the good of others as opposed to himself. Still, the fact that Tony could tell he kept secrets stood, and Tony had to know exactly how much he did keep, and for whose benefit. “She trusts you in what way?”

Bruce smiled, a small gentle curving of his lips. “Enough to allow me to disclose anything about her relationship with me to you if I think it’ll help you. Or her, for that matter.”

That, well. That was more trust than Pepper probably put in anyone, especially Tony. After all he’d done, letting her pseudo-therapist tell him everything about her? That was an impressive show of confidence.

“Okay, fine, big guy. Where do we start?”

Bruce chuckled, reaching for the medical equipment and vials and such. “It’s not often I hear that nickname anymore.” He held up a set of vials and a tourniquet. “We start by taking some blood samples, then we go from there.”

Tony held out his arm, rolling the sleeve up quickly. “Then go right ahead, doc. I better warn you, you might have a little trouble finding a vein.”

He followed Bruce’s gaze to the crook of Tony’s arm, crisscrossed with old track marks. He wasn’t proud of his old habits, but he wasn’t ashamed of them either. He fucked up, then he got over it. There was no sense dwelling on the bad hands he’d been dealt.

Bruce, to his credit, didn’t even pause. He went straight ahead and hooked Tony up with only a few mis-starts, then went about the rest of his work quietly and efficiently.

“So,” Tony broke the silence, never one to let things lie, “You’re like a therapist, right?”

“No, I’m not that kind of doctor, Tony,” Bruce said as he hooked up yet another vial. “I’m a hematologist. I just also have a lot of experience in the world, so people tend to talk to me.”

Tony hummed. “So you’re not going to dissect all my feelings and all that crap?”

Bruce looked up, meeting Tony’s eyes for the first time since they’d started. “Pepper did ask me to assess your mental state, if that’s what you’re asking, but I told her no. I’m not a psychiatrist, I won’t analyze or disclose anything you say if you don’t want me to, but I would like to know more about you as a person if you’d like, Tony.”

Well, that was refreshingly honest. “Maybe next time, Bruce.”

Bruce nodded going back to his work. “I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

\--

Hank’s restaurant was oddly...insect-themed. Hexagonal shelves lined the walls like honeycombs, half the menu included something ominously called “ant salt,” and even the logo had venous wings surrounding the name: The Red Ant. Did ants even have wings? Tony had no idea. It all almost felt a little like a jab at what Tony did, all those years ago. Even Hank wasn’t that petty, though.

Suffice to say, it was all a little creepy-crawly for Tony’s taste, but that didn’t mean Hank wasn’t one of the best. If he needed to experiment with insects to make his name in the city, well it just proved that while he was a stellar entremier, he was no head chef. Consistent, detail-oriented, and erringly on time no matter the circumstances - traits of a great vegetable chef in a brigade, but not necessarily traits of a great head chef. That was probably why the upstart Darren Cross was able to get one over on him. It was probably also why Hope was looking to cut Cross off at the pass before word of the mutiny even reached Hank’s ears.

All it did for Tony, though, was give him ammunition to pull Hank over to his side. Hopefully.

He walked into the restaurant, going straight back towards the kitchen before anyone noticed he wasn’t supposed to be there. There was one way this worked best, and it didn’t involve any more secrets.

The kitchen was comfortingly loud, chefs everywhere shouting to be heard over the deceptively high din of the ovens and sinks and pans sizzling. White coats thread through the madness, carrying soup pots and plastic ingredient containers and all manner of utensils. One young kid almost bumped into Tony with a bowl full of grasshoppers. Tony did his best not to gag.

Instead, he strode straight up to Hank at the pass, watching as the man inspected plate after plate, sprinkling dead ants on top and wiping the steam off his glasses between each dish. He’d never imagined Hank at the head of a kitchen before, but it was awkward to watch. He was quiet, reserved. He was much more suited to the back of a kitchen, Tony thought.

“Hey, Hank.”

Hank jerked up, hitting his head on the ticket line, making a few drop from where they were pinned up on the metal shelf. Hank scrambled to pick them up and put them back in the right order. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Tony chuckled. “Nice to see you too, Pym. It’s been a long time. How’s Jan, by the way? Still in touch?”

Hank’s eyes shot up to Tony’s, wild and a little unfocused behind his hipster glasses. “How do you know Jan?”

That was something Tony didn’t think up an excuse for. He was a poor dishwasher when Hank met him, there was no reasonable way he would know anything about the up and coming fashion designer with a famous engineer dad. Then again, Hank was also a poor dishwasher when he met Jan…

“How do you think?” Tony gave Hank a smirk, letting him believe what he wanted to, “We’re not that different, you and I, except I know more about your own restaurant than you seem to.”

“I-” Hank screwed up his eyes for a second. “Darren! To the pass!”

“Probably not the best idea,” Tony butt in, “Seeing as he wants to take that position from you permanently as soon as he gets the support from your staff.”

Darren ran up to the pass, but Hank stopped him with a hand on the younger man’s chest. Hank looked at Tony. “You- why should I believe you?”

“Don’t believe me, believe Hope. She’s a Van Dyne woman, they’re always right.”

Hank sent a sharp look at Darren. “Back to your station.” He looked back to the kitchen at large. “Hope! Up to the pass!”

Darren looked confused, and a little angry, but stumbled back to his station regardless. Hope bounded up, hiding her excitement poorly behind a killer bob and sharp features. She must have tried very hard to be seen as a capable adult instead of just Hank’s lost kid, and it showed.

She took the pass, only pausing for a moment to drop a heartfelt “Thanks, dad” before shouting orders back to the kitchen with a cool confidence.

Hank, on the other hand, looked lost as he followed Tony to his own office.

Hank sat down heavily as Tony looked around, taking it all in. He was definitely still an engineer at heart, with scattered equations scrawled over the backs of tickets and old menus taped haphazardly to the walls. There were vials on shelves near the walls, sitting underneath large models of different insects. It was not only familiar in a chilling sort of way, reminding him of what little memories he had of Howard’s office from way back when, but it also betrayed Hank’s stress and harried way of working. He wasn’t meant to lead, and the mess of his inner space showed that conflict.

“Why is it that whenever you show up you ruin my day?” Hank asked, soft yet angry.

“You just don’t hang out with me enough.” Tony leaned against the desk Hank was sitting behind. “I came to rectify that.”

Hank’s head shot up, pure rage on his face. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! You want me to work with you, after everything you’ve done?”

Good, Tony expected anger. “Your ship’s sinking, Hank, and you don’t have the nautical prowess to get it afloat again. Hope does.”

“ _ Hope _ is barely even an adult. She can’t run her own kitchen, not that I would even want her to.” Hank’s jaw ground together so tight Tony could practically hear it. “And just because she says Darren is a traitor doesn’t mean he is. They’ve always hated each other, she’s probably just making it up.”

Tony sighed, leaning in. “She was raised by Jan, a woman who never once lied to me in all the time I knew her. She would tell you the hard truth no matter what, it was something she prides herself on. And I know I only saw a glimpse of Hope, but she looks exactly like her mother. Same stubborn pride, same fight to do whatever it takes, same loyalty to those she loves. If she’s telling you there’s trouble under your nose, then you better damn well batten down the hatches because that means she’s tried to fix it herself and failed, and she needs your help now.”

Tony watched as Hank warred with himself quietly. He knew that Hank’s hatred from Tony was trying to override everything, but he also knew Hank was logical and great with direction. He would do the right thing, once he figured out what it was.

Suddenly, the anger bled from Hank’s face, replaced by a quiet determination. “And what do you think I should do?”

“Come with me, let Hope take the reins. She’s more than ready, even I could tell that, and you’re not fit to clean up this mess. It’s not your strength, Hank. Your strength is keeping a kitchen together from the inside, not trying to stitch it together from the outside.”

Hank snorted, shaking his head. “I don’t have to work for you, I could just step back and let Hope do what she needs to do, then take it back over.”

“And if you do that you’re cutting her off at the knees.” Tony countered. “If you stay near control, it shows you have no faith in her, and if you demote her as soon as the storm passes then she loses all respect in that kitchen. A clean break with a clear reason is what you need, and there’s really only one way to do that.”

“By taking up with an old friend who’s on the road to a star.” Hank sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

Tony beamed. “I usually am.”

Hank stood up, facing Tony head-on. Tony stopped leaning against the desk to face him.

“This doesn’t mean I like you, Carbonelli.” Hank sneered.

“You don’t have to, Pym. You just have to respect me.”

Hank looked down at his desk, shaking his head, before holding his hand out towards Tony. Tony took it, shaking his hand firmly.

“Welcome to the team, buddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank’s restaurant was based on an actual place that does that shit called The Black Ant in real-life New York. I’ve read through their entire menu and I’m still not entirely sure what “ant salt” is and truly, at this point, it’s probably better that I don’t.


	7. Let's Get It Started (In Here)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from Black Eyed Peas. French conversations are all written out in English, and the French text should be available if you hover. If not, I have them all at the end for those who are curious.   
> Fun Fact, while I do speak french I specifically speak Quebecois, the French from Quebec in Canada. Metropolitan (aka Parisian) accents baffle and amuse me. I originally wrote all the bits that say “spoke in French” or whatever in the actual french, but then I switched it for accessibility purposes. I retained the originals because I hate throwing shit away and also I love writing in French, so yeah

They were twenty minutes into prep before the first dinner service, and Tony was still missing a meat cook.

“Has anyone seen Rogers?” Tony shouted out over the rumbling din of the kitchen, “About three feet tall, skinnier than a coke-head?”

Rhodey, cleaning off the pass next to him, mumbled “You would know, wouldn’t you?” with a smirk.

The rest of the staff resounded a quick “no, chef” before getting back to their tasks.

“Well, shit.” Tony rubbed a hand over his face. He had been so sure that the kid would take the jump to brighter pastures. Sure, he and Rhodey could handle it if they had to, maybe he could throw Nat on it for the slow parts in service, but he’d really rather not go searching for a meat-man worth his salt yet again.

“I’m sorry, did I just hear we’re down a chef?”

Tony loved Pepper, he really did, but the last thing he needed right now was to hear her in the kitchen. “Rogers, my rotisseur.”

Pepper seemed to steel herself, pulling back her shoulders to bear the new weight placed on them. “Okay, fine. I’ll have the servers push the fish, then. Natasha?” She called out towards the back, where Natasha was filleting a halibut. “Are you good with that?”

Natasha finished a stroke of her knife, holding up the scarily sharp filleting knife next to her equally sharp smile. “A chance to show off, plus less testosterone in the kitchen? Sounds great to me.”

Pepper left with a swift nod, probably to redirect her army of servers on the new plan.

“This is my brand new staff, Rhodey,” Tony sighed, “How am I supposed to run a three-star restaurant without a fucking rotisseur?”

Rhodey put down his rag, standing to mirror Tony, leaning back on the pass as they watched the kitchen rumble to life. “We can figure it out, Tones. Maybe poach somebody off Hammer’s team.”

“As if I would touch any of Hammer’s team with a ten-foot pole.” Tony sighed, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “We should help out with prep since we’re one man down, now.”

“That’s why we started an hour early.” Rhodey reminded, planting a firm hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Anyway, if this guy is as good as you say he is, he’ll come around eventually.”

Tony scratched at his jaw, a nervous tic from his teen years at Jarvis’ that he’d picked up to distract himself from nicotine cravings and he had never quite been able to shake. “Yeah, sure. You’re probably right.”

Rhodey laughed and walked into the kitchen at large to help out with the prep. “I’m always right, Tony. I know you haven’t forgotten that.”

Tony took a deep breath, inhaling slowly and blowing the exhale out like a balloon. This was supposed to be his perfect night, his one chance to open the restaurant that would grant him his third star, and it was already heading towards disaster. Fuck.

He walked out of the service door to get some air, just for a second. He didn’t smoke anymore, but the routine of a smoke break tricked his brain into calming down, parsing things apart as cleanly as possible. Something about the biting air, the noise of the city, the puttering rain pinging against metal gutters, it put his mind at ease, if just for a moment. Whether New York or Paris or Dubai, the sound was always the same. It was comforting, in a way. No matter what happened, the city would rumble onwards, never pausing for even a moment.

So, he was a man down, but Rhodey was right. They could figure it out, patch it together if needed. He could go out looking for a new chef in the morning after the drama of it all had settled. That, or he would fail and be forced to scrap it all again. Either way, he had a dinner service to get through.

He was about to walk back inside when a motorcycle engine rumbled noisily into the alley. Tony glanced up to see a tiny motorbike carrying much more than the skinny kid steering it.

It was Rogers, all right, but behind him was that one-armed waiter that had served Tony at Peggy’s place. Looks like they were a package deal.

The bike rolled up to just before the edge of the rooftop that Tony was sheltered under, idling into a purr. Steve planted his feet and took off his helmet, shaking out his hair. “Just to be clear, I don’t like this.”

That wasn’t a no, thank god. It was more of a ‘convince me that you’re worth it, that this is worth it.’ That, Tony could work with.

“Okay,” He responded calmly.

That seemed to enrage Steve more. “You cost me my fucking job!”

Ah, Peggy must have fired the kid to give him a real push. Smart. “Yep.”

“You’re an arrogant asshole, you know that?” He stepped off the motorcycle, still standing in the pouring rain. Tony could see his knife bag strapped to his back. So all this was just bluster, making sure his voice was heard.

Tony leaned against the wall, cocking an eyebrow. “Are you going to stand there complaining all day, or are you going to come inside and cook?”

Steve looked back at his friend, suddenly much less confident than he was. “And what about Bucky?”

“That’s Pepper’s decision, not mine,” Tony answered with a wave of his hand, “But it’s a big hotel, I’m sure we can find a job for him somewhere.”

Bucky caught Steve’s eye and nodded firmly. “I’ll be good, Stevie. Go get ‘em.”

Steve nodded, walking towards Tony with a swagger that should not have fit in his tiny frame. He should have looked like a drowned kitten, by all means, with his hair plastered to his forehead by the rain and the way his shoulder bones made weird silhouettes in his shirt, but there was steel, there. Something told Tony that Rogers never backed down from a fight. Good, that was exactly what he needed in a kitchen.

“Come on, pipsqueak. You’re late for prep.”

Steve shuffled into the kitchen in front of Tony, shivering slightly at the burst of air-conditioning over his soaked clothes. “You got any dress whites for me?”

Tony frowned, not only at the odd phrasing but at the thick New Yorker accent that he hadn’t noticed until that moment, in Tony’s own space instead of the chaos everywhere else. That’s what he got for plucking the kid right out of the annals of Brooklyn. “Yeah, they’re in Pep’s office. The only glass room on the East wall.”

Steve nodded firmly and went in search of his coat.

Tony shook his head, sidling up to Rhodey at the pass. “I found my meat chef, plus some,” He said in French, wanting that modicum of privacy.

“Oh?” Rhodey raised an eyebrow before responding in kind, watching Steve squelch over to Pepper’s office. “Looks like you found a little less, to me.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Tony rolled his eyes. “He brought a friend. A big guy with one arm. I’m supposed to find a job for him.”

Rhodey hummed, licking his lips. It was a nervous habit, Tony knew, but Tony also couldn’t help but watch it happen each time, transfixed. He wondered, in slow moments, what it would be like if that gesture were pointed at him, because of him.

“We could always use another dishwasher, I guess.”

Tony shook his head, scratching at his beard again. “No, I already gave that post away to someone else.”

“Who?”

“Harley’s boyfriend, Peter or something.” Tony looked back to the kid with the big eyes and fidgety hands in the very back of the kitchen. He wasn’t needed until service, since the kitchen was already spotless, having just been built, so he hadn’t had a real chance to do anything yet. “He has a bit of spunk. I’m hoping to get him in the kitchen for real someday.”

Rhodey and Tony both looked into the kitchen. Harley was there, slinging an arm over Peter’s shoulders and mussing up his boyfriend’s hair. He laughed at something Nat said, then made his way gracefully between Hank’s frantic julienning and Nat’s fileting. It was as if he’d been there for years, grabbing saucepans from the stovetop while he spun out of the way of Peter’s rushing about with pans. Peter, for his merit, was almost as smooth as Harley while he moved through the kitchen, avoiding people and knives and oven doors while he spirited away the dishes, showing almost a sixth sense for how people moved. He didn’t have the rhythm down, it was a little jerky and uncoordinated, but he didn’t bump into anyone or break any dishes yet, so he had potential.

Tony looked back towards Rhodey, who was looking at Peter with something almost fond in his eyes. “You know, Tones,” He said, all soft and warm like honey, in English this time, “He reminds me a lot of you when you first started, washing dishes for free just to get a foot in the kitchen.”

“I was an idiot, back then.”

“No,” Rhodey laughed, looking down at the ground, “You were an inspiration. If I hadn’t watched you then, grovelling for any scrap of knowledge you could get your greasy little mitts on, I wouldn’t have worked near as hard. Then you got a jacket, and you ran headlong into everything; nothing could stop you. It was all we could do just to try and keep up.” He looked at Tony, and something in his expression made Tony’s skin crawl, but not unpleasantly. Like a brush of the hand after so long alone. “Without you, I’d be half the chef I am today.

Shivers ran up Tony’s spine. He was melting in the spotlight of Rhodey’s eyes. It was almost painful, feeling all of Rhodey’s attention on him for even that short second.

Tony broke eye contact first, plastering on his best media smile. “Well, I am pretty amazing, aren’t I?”

Rhodey scoffed and dropped his gaze, smacking Tony hard on the arm. “Ruined the moment, dude.”

“Yeah, well, the moment’s over anyway,” Tony said as he clapped his hands together, very much avoiding whatever connotations laid beneath Rhodey’s words, “We’re all hands on deck now. It’s time for a rousing speech.”

“Taking a page from Edwin’s book, are you?” Pepper had snuck up behind him, menus in hand. “I noticed a very small man in my office just now, I take it that we’re not pushing fish anymore?”

Natasha chimed up from her station. “Feel free to send more orders my way anyway. Consider it a personal favour.”

Tony shivered at the implications of Pepper and Natasha, the two strongest women in his life, being indebted to each other like that. Probably best if he nipped that in the bud early.

“Chefs!” Tony shouted into the kitchen, satisfied as all the noise died down and everyone turned to face him. “We’ve still got some time before service, but I wanted to start things off right. I know some of you hate me,” he looked pointedly at Hank and Steve, “And others are probably only here for the entertainment,” Natasha beamed while Clint behind her just shrugged, “But no matter the reason, what we’ve got here is something special. Never has a greater phoenix metaphor been personified than by what we’re doing here. We all tried to make it on our own, and we all failed, because we work best as a team. We’ve got some of the greatest chefs alive working together for the first time in modern culinary history. Really, you all could have been anywhere in the world right now, cooking at any restaurant of your choosing, but you’re here with me, and I appreciate that. Now let’s get ready to kick some ass.”

About half the cooks clapped, while the rest got straight back to work.

Rhodey bumped his shoulder, laughing. “Did you really just quote Jay Z? Not even that, but 2001 Jay Z? I’ll bet your saucier wasn’t even alive when that hit came out.”

“Quit making me feel old, platypus.” Tony pushed him back.

Despite everything, Tony had a good feeling about all this. Plus, he had Rhodey at his side. When they were together, Tony felt invincible, like nothing could stop him from getting that third star. He just hoped the rest of them felt that way, too.

\--

Their first service. The first chance Tony had to prove himself after all he’d done, and it turned out like this. A fucking disaster, is what it was.

Tony braced his palms on the pass, hanging his head between his shoulders. Rogers had sent up bloody fucking steaks, nobody was communicating all night, and, worst of all, they were short on reservations. They had empty fucking tables at the opening of a high-class restaurant in New York City, and that one was on Tony. They were screwed from the start, with his name on the place. He should have stayed in Dubai, at this point.

The kitchen was eerily quiet while they cleared down, waiting on his instruction. Fuck his goddamn instruction, they should have been able to work together without him pulling at their reins every three goddamn minutes.

“Everybody shut up for a minute,” Tony said, calmly, not bothering to compete with the clanking of pans behind him. The noise all stopped, anyhow.

He picked his head up and turned around, glaring out at his so-called chefs. They looked mostly stoic, ready to take it, minus poor little Peter in the back who was almost ready to piss his pants.

“Tonight was a disgrace,” He started, voice ground low, “I’m giving everyone who dined here tonight their money back because this? This is on me. You all are undertrained, rash, not used to working in a kitchen with fucking standards, I just-“ 

He cut off at the sudden pain in his chest. It was psychosomatic, he knew. All in his head after so long burying heartache with booze and coke and anything to numb him for a little while, but all that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like a bitch. He moved a hand up to rub harshly at the center of his chest, where the pain was centred just beneath his breastbone.

“Hank?”

“Yes, chef.” God, he was too proud. Even in the face of being reamed out, Hank was standing there like the world revolved around him.

“I gave you a mandolin to use, oui? Because every slice has to be perfect, an equal two millimetres. And yet, somehow, you gave me shitty, uneven slices of garbage for my pommes Anna.” He glared hard into Hank’s eyes. “Did you think that was a joke?”

Hank’s jaw ground audibly. “No, chef.”

“What, did you measure every potato slice?”

“There wasn’t any time.” His voice was just bordering on the edge of cocky.

Tony dropped his head into his hands. “No time. You’re right, there wasn’t, which is why you just have to know. I thought you did, I thought you would be competent enough for this, but apparently you’re not. My mistake.”

He looked over to Natasha, heart still pounding painfully in his chest.

“And you, my friend,” He started in on Natasha in French. There could no favorites in the kitchen. “You left the scallops in the pan too long because you were waiting on garnish, yes?” He fought to keep the strain out of his voice.

Natasha frowned just slightly between her eyebrows. She was probably planning six different ways to kill him, but that would pass. Probably. “We were lagging,” she answered back in French, “If I’d thrown them out then the entire table-“

“Then throw them out.” Tony cut her off. “If it’s not perfect, we don’t serve it.”

Natasha nodded. “Oui, chef.”

He turned on Rogers, who had been standing in a parade rest the whole time, as if this were fucking boot camp. “Drop your hands and stand like a normal person for fuck’s sake,” he switched back to English to accommodate.

Rogers reluctantly dropped his hands from behind his back.

“I made a big mistake with you, didn’t I? How did you manage to not notice you’d sent up steaks that were still fucking bleeding? They were more alive than dead, Rogers. I assumed you’d be able to see if your meat was cooked, but obviously I was wrong.”

“You weren’t wrong, chef.”

Tony’s anger, which had been starting to simmer down, roared back up again. “No, this is the part where you shut up and listen. This is my kitchen, my enterprise. You, Rogers, are a piece of equipment, and until you run your own kitchen, you don’t have an opinion, got it? You say ‘Yes, chef,’ ‘Whatever you want, chef,’ ‘Right away, chef,’ and then you shut your goddamn mouth. Is that clear?”

“I’m not too good at taking orders, chef.” Rogers practically spit in his face.

That was the last straw. “You’re poison, you know that? A goddamn infection.” He turned back around, no longer able to face his chefs without doing something he’d end up regretting. “Get out. All of you, get the fuck out of my restaurant.”

There was a scurrying behind him as they all hurried to comply. Tony paid them no mind, keeping his eyes closed as he leaned on a countertop, rubbing the heel of his hand into his chest as hard as he could tolerate.

There was silence, after a moment. Then, footsteps.

“I take it that didn’t go well.”

“I’m sorry, Pep. I’ll do TV interviews, meetings, whatever it takes.” He opened his eyes but kept his gaze low, unable to look her in the face. This was all his fault, and everyone was paying for it. Pepper, of everyone, probably deserved it the least. “There’s never going to be another empty table in this restaurant again, I promise you.”

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, squeezing for a moment, before she sighed and walked off again.

“You know,” Rhodey said, as soon as Pepper left, “I get it, okay?”

Tony shook his head. He didn’t want any comfort, right now. What he needed was to buckle down, go over his mistakes and make sure they never happen again. He didn’t need Rhodey’s soft eyes right now. He didn’t deserve them.

“It was a rough opening. We were all stressed out, but it’s your name on the door. I get it, okay?” Rhodey continued, moving closer so Tony could see the tops of his shoes. “You’re angry and frustrated and embarrassed and disappointed and a whole host of other feelings that I don’t get, and you probably didn’t mean to take it out on everybody, fine, but Tony? If you try and yell at Natasha like that for no good reason in front of everyone again? Well…just know who has your back, Tones. Because us? Pepper and Natasha and me? We’re with you through it all, no matter what. We’re brothers, you and me. Do me a favour and don’t forget that, okay?”

There was a long pause, pregnant with the missing apologies and all the past between them. Then Rhodey moved, breaking the silence with the shrill slide of his knives as he packed up. He paused one last time, probably to look at Tony, but Tony still couldn’t bring himself to face him. After that spectacular display, he didn’t deserve Rhodey’s kindness.

Almost as if reading Tony’s mind, Rhodey sighed and left out the service door, leaving Tony alone with his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original French, if anyone was wondering (and in case I did the formatting thing wrong), goes like this:  
> For the discussion on Steve:  
> Tony: J'ai trouvé mon rotissier…et quelques autre  
> Rhodey: On dirait que tu en as trouvé un peu moins, à moi  
> Tony: Ha ha, très amusant. Il a amené un ami. Un grand gars avec un seul bras. Je suis censé trouver un emploi pour lui.  
> Rhodey: Nous pourrions utiliser un lave-vaisselle, je suppose  
> Tony: No, j'ai déjà donné ce poste à quelqu'un d'autre  
> Rhodey: Qui?  
> Tony: Le copain de Harley. Peter, ou quelque chose. Il a un peu de cran. J'espère qu'il se joindra à nous dans la cuisine un jour.  
> When he reamed out Natasha at the end:   
> Tony: Et toi, mon amie, tu as laissé tes pétoncles trop longtemps dans la poêle parce que tu attendais la garniture, non?  
> Natasha: Nous sauvegardions, chef. Si je l'avais jeté, la table entière-  
> Tony: Puis le jeter. Si ce n’est pas parfait, nous le servons pas


	8. There's the Problem: Feathers, Iron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from R.E.M.’s Fall On Me. It was inspired by Galileo’s gravity experiments from the Tower of Pisa, so if you ever wanted to hear a song on that, I recommend it whole-heartedly. I also, unfortunately, cannot divorce that line in the song from the Limmy skit, Steel is Heavier than Feathers.

Rhodey had texted him during his Good Morning America appearance with a quick “Brighton Beach, 11am. Be there or be square.” Tony had been planning to go straight back to his room at the hotel after his interview, maybe make some ice cream and listen to some classic rock for a few hours on his one night off, but, well…no one had called him a square before, and they weren’t going to start now. Plus, it was Rhodey. He could never say no to Rhodey.

Rhodey must have told Pepper their plans anyhow, because as soon as Tony walked into his suite at the hotel he found an outfit laid out on the bed - a white tank top, a short sleeve pink linen shirt, and tailored chino shorts - with a note on top written in her distinctive lettering.  _ He’s letting you off easy. Don’t fuck it up. _

Well, with everything Pepper had done for him recently, the least he could do was take her advice.

The beach was mostly empty when he got there. It was almost October, and the days were cooling significantly. Today was a rare warm day, however, so it hopefully wouldn’t be too cold near the waves.

Rhodey was the only one sitting close to the water, the other two families picnicking were much further up the beach, only a few yards from the boardwalk. Rhodey was the only one daring enough to get close to what must have been the freezing ocean.

Tony stood and watched, for just a moment. Rhodey was sitting in the sand in a tank and swim shorts, his bare feet bobbing back and forth to some beat Tony couldn’t hear. His face was turned up towards the sky, taking in the warmth of the sun. His skin almost glowed in the harsh light, giving his deep brown cheekbones and shoulders some coppery highlights. He looked like a statue, crafted painstakingly by a careful hand. Every time Tony saw Rhodey in a new light, he fell in love all over again.

His heart ached behind his breastbone.

“Well, I’m no longer in danger of being a square, like some geek in the 1950’s,” Tony said as soon as he got close to where Rhodey sat. “What’s next, a sock hop? Are you going to ask me to do some backseat bingo with you, Daddy-O?”

Rhodey laughed, deep and pure. “You’re funny every once in a blue moon, you know that?”

Tony squatted on his haunches next to Rhodey. “I’m hilarious and you know it.” He looked out at the ocean, idly wondering about the power it must take to push hundreds of gallons of water up onto the sand each second. He suddenly felt very small, in the universe. “Seriously, why am I here, James?”

Rhodey gave him a sideways glance at the use of his first name. “I saw the interview went well.” He said, tilting his head. “I thought maybe you could use a reward. I know it must have been tough to go through all that again. And I don’t mean in Paris.”

If he didn’t mean Paris, then… more people knew than he’d thought. 

Tony had never told Rhodey about his life growing up, he’d never told anyone until Pepper. Only Christine Everhart and Jarvis had ever figured it out. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of how he grew up – his father was a sack of shit, but he loved his mother with all his heart – but that people looked at him differently, treated him differently. As soon as they realized he grew up in luxury, they assumed he was a brat, some stupid kid who ran away because daddy didn’t get him a Lambo for Christmas. No one cared that he never got any of his family’s wealth, that his dad treated him like the help more often than not, that his father threw him and his luggage to the curb in a country where he didn’t know a soul and flew off, leaving him to fend for himself without even a rudimentary grasp of the language. At least it was better than suffering the bruises and broken bones that were an unfortunate side effect of existing as the great Howard Stark’s son. At least, this way, he didn’t have to live with all that blood on his hands that came with being a Stark.

There was a damn good reason he changed his name as soon as he could, back in Paris. He really didn’t need people digging up his dirty laundry, even now, years after Howard had bit the dust.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Tony didn’t look Rhodey in the eye, instead staring off at one of the families having their picnic further up the beach. 

It was a mom and dad with their son, all looking the same with bright ginger hair and freckled faces. They seemed to be having fun eating sandwiches and building sandcastles together. They had a kite tied to their basket, which jumped up from the sand every once in a while to journey on a short flight a few feet off the ground, ribbons flying, before falling back down again. Tony’s heart hurt again, and this time it had nothing to do with the man sitting next to him. 

“We’re best friends, Tones. We’re practically brothers.” He sighed softly. “I’ve known a long time, but I also know how tough it was for you. I didn’t want to bring it up for no reason.”

Tony’s jaw twitched. He forced himself to take some deep breaths to calm down, rubbing a hand into his breastbone. “Thanks for that.”

“Anyway, I thought you need a beach day. Some time to kick back, relax, maybe get in a swim.”

Tony shook his head. He’d had enough excitement for the day, honestly. He looked over at Rhodey, who was facing him with a face so open it almost hurt to look at. “I think I’ll stay back, get some sun.”

“Sure,” Rhodey said, kinder than he had any right to be, “Do you mind if I take a dip, then?”

“No, go for it.”

Rhodey nodded, stripping off his shirt. Tony only got a quick glimpse at the curves of his toned back before Rhodey was taking a running leap into the water.

It had to have been freezing, this late into the season, but Rhodey paid the temperature no mind. He swam a few yards away from the shore before he stopped and floated on his back. The tide started to take him closer to shore, little by little.

“You know what I loved most about Paris?” Rhodey half-shouted, still a little ways away from Tony, who sat further up the beach.

Tony picked up a towel, walking up so just his toes were in the water. It was just as freezing as he’d thought. “The Eiffel Tower?”

Rhodey laughed again, deep and loud, and Tony knew in his heart that he would never get tired of that sound. “No, no. You remember those nights after a long service at Jarvis’?” He was close enough to the shore to speak normally now, floating just a few inches above the sand, and his voice took on an almost dreamy quality. “We’d be walking home late along the Seine, couldn’t see a foot past our noses, and one of us would get the stupid idea to strip down and jump into the river. Didn’t matter the time of year, it didn’t matter that we’d be stuck with wet boxers for the rest of the walk home, or that we could be slapped with a fine worth more than our rent. We were just young and reckless, doing stupid shit to have fun.”

“A: I’m pretty sure most of those times it was your idea, and B: it wasn’t for fun, it was to wash off all the sweat after our stupid landlord forgot to renew our water account.” Tony reminded him.

Those were some of the best times of his life, regardless. Skinny dipping with their chef’s coats laid out on the dirty cobblestone paths, racing to see who could swim to the other side the fastest, wrestling underwater, testing how long they could hold their breath when they heard the cops pass by. It was him and Rhodey and Natasha and even Hank and Justin back then, all together as one, against the world. 

Tony remembered how he slowly fell in love with Rhodey over those nights, watching from afar how beautiful he looked even in the dirty water of the Seine, shining brightly in the streetlights. He kept it hidden so well, he thought, for all those years. Rhodey had never said a word, at least, though Tony is sure in retrospect it must have been obvious. It didn’t matter now, anyway. Tony had fucked up one too many times for Rhodey to look at him like that. He’d OD’ed, disappeared, and came back demanding Rhodey’s time and attention once again without so much as an apology. He didn’t deserve Rhodey’s friendship, let alone his love. 

Besides, there was too much history between them, now. They were certainly better off as friends, and he was fine with that. Totally, definitely fine.

So fine, obviously, that he didn’t notice Rhodey sneaking up on him until it was too late.

He was shocked back to reality by a cold arm wrapping around his thigh, another around his middle, lifting him up into the air.

“Rhodey!” Tony shouted as his feet left the ground. His nice tailored clothes were starting to soak through in the places that Rhodey’s wet skin was touching him. “This outfit is designer! It’s not meant to get wet!”

Rhodey chuckled, carrying Tony like he weighed nothing, despite Tony’s vehement protesting. “You’re a soon-to-be three-star Michelin chef. You can afford more.”

With that he dumped Tony into the water, serving a shock to his system.

Tony saw it coming, so he was holding his breath when his head went under, but he wasn’t truly prepared for the cold. It hit him with a vengeance, reminding him distantly of the time he spent shivering in a shitty hundred-degree room in Dubai as he went through cocaine withdrawal.

He sat up as quickly as he could, his head only barely above the water. His hair, which was perfectly styled that morning, was plastered over his eyes.

“James Rupert Rhodes, you’re a fucking menace.”

Rhodey was still laughing, standing over Tony and crossing his arms over his gut. Tony, in a stroke of genius, pulled hard at Rhodey’s ankle, sending him back down on his ass in the water.

“Tony!”

Tony pouted, pushing his lip out dramatically. “Serves you right for ruining my linen.”

Rhodey grinned maniacally. He pulled a hand back slowly, then pushed forward with all his might, sending a huge wave splashing over Tony’s head.

Tony sat there, shocked, for a short moment. They were grown-ass men, he was fully-clothed, and they were sitting here in the shallow end of Brighton Beach in autumn. It was probably one of the more ridiculous things he’d done since he got back. 

Rhodey always knew just how to cheer him up.

“Oh, you’re on, Rhodes.”

-

They stayed at the beach all day, sitting on the sand until their clothes were dry, then jumping right back in. They talked and laughed about everything and nothing: old times and new, how everything was different and somehow still exactly the same, all the years they were apart. 

Tony ran a hand through his hair, all curly and a little frizzy from the repeated exposure to the salty ocean, and watched as Rhodey picked up with his fingers one of the pelmenis they’d gotten from a little shop on the boardwalk. Rhodey’s cheeks were pink, despite his insistence that black skin doesn’t burn, but the redness was starting to show more starkly as the sun set, painting the world in warm oranges and pinks.

It was everything Tony had ever imagined in his wildest dreams. He had a restaurant, he had Pepper and Nat and everyone back, and now he was eating delicious dumplings as he watched the sunset with the man he’d loved since the first time he discovered what true love is. Rhodey felt they were more like brothers, which was absolutely fine, but Tony knew he could never bury his feelings far enough to agree. He’d tried that once, and as a result, he overdosed and ran away to Dubai for three years. It was better to take it as it is, let the truth of it all lie, and accept that they would never feel the same. As much as it hurt, seeing Rhodey here with him, happy and sunburnt and maybe a little tipsy on the vodka the restaurant owner had snuck him that Tony had known better than to touch… it was better to stick with this than it was to risk this never happening again.

Plus, there was no way Rhodey didn’t know about his little crush, right? He had been fairly obvious back then, and if Pepper’s looks meant anything then he wasn’t hiding it much better now. They were both aware of how the other side felt, and they both accepted it. It really was more than Tony could ask for.

“What’s up?” Rhodey asked around a mouthful of dumpling. He swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’ve got that spacey look on, not the one that ends with a good recipe but the one that ends with a nose full of coke.”

Tony shook his head, focusing on the alien feeling of his natural curls bouncing about his head. “I’ve been clean since the day I left, you know that.”

Rhodey put the paper plate of dumplings down on the blanket between them. “I do, but that doesn’t mean you exorcised your demons. So come on, Tones. You know damn well you can talk to me about anything.”

Anything except this, Tony thought. He didn’t want to make Rhodey uncomfortable with his unrequited love. They’ve survived this far not talking about it at all, he could go on with it a little longer. As long as it took.

“It’s just the restaurant,” Tony lied, grasping at the first problem he could think up, “That opening was a disaster. I should have known better than to try this with a motley crew, it’s never been done before because it doesn’t work.”

Rhodey hummed and laid back, propping himself up only by his elbows. “You know how many times you’ve said that about recipes that you ended up figuring out five minutes later?”

“This is different.”

“How?” Rhodey looked at him, piercing Tony with his warm questioning gaze. “Seriously, Tones, how? This is just another experiment that you haven’t found the right formula to, or whatever science nonsense it is you pull out of your ass when I call you on your bullshit.”

Tony was shocked into a small smile, which he directed at the sunset in front of them. He still didn’t think he could look too long into Rhodey’s eyes without saying something he shouldn’t. “I was raised by engineers, you know. It’s not nonsense.”

“You and I both know that half the time it doesn’t make sense. Just because you have the knowledge doesn’t mean you use it.” Rhodey sat back up. “It was their first night working together, Tones. They need to find their rhythm; nobody falls in perfectly with a brigade they just met.”

“We did,” Tony said softly, watching the stringy clouds pass in front of the setting sun.

“The first time, sure. We were a once in a lifetime pair, though. This time?” Rhodey sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “We’ve been off since you disappeared. At Jarvis’, here, everywhere has been way off balance that whole time. It’ll take a second to let us find our footing again, okay?”

Tony swallowed and looked at Rhodey, really looked at him for the first time since they met in that alley. He looked tired, worn down. Tony had first chalked it up to being older, but this was different. Deeper.

“What happened, Rhodey?”

Rhodey laughed almost venomously. “Which time?”

“After I left.”

Rhodey’s face straightened out, features landing somewhere between sad and blank. “We fell apart, Tones. Edwin went first, couldn’t keep it together with his surrogate son missing. The rest of us had to let it sink in a minute but then… we started looking for you. In alleys, hostels, hotels, everywhere. I called your dad. Everyone else stopped looking after a while but I just… I couldn’t stop, okay?”

All the energy seemed to have left Rhodey at once, sagging like his strings had been cut. 

“Why do you think you found me in New York?” Rhodey sounded almost pained, now. “I was here looking for you, asking people at every place I could tie you to. Eventually, I had to pull back, start focusing on making money and getting my career back on track, but I never stopped looking. I never gave up on you.”

That was not at all what Tony expected. He’d assumed Rhodey was in New York because it was the new center of innovation in food, because he was always talented and he wanted to stay on top of the trends. He did wonder why Rhodey had never opened up his new restaurant, but Tony had assumed he was just studying, gathering his staff, taking his time to make it perfect. Now Tony knew.

“I never meant for any of that.”

Rhodey shook his head, licking his lips. “Doesn’t matter if you meant it or not. That’s what happens when you have friends, Tony. People care when you disappear.”

That, more than anything, hit Tony right to the core. “My own father didn’t. I guess I assumed it would be the same for everyone else.”

There was a moment of silence, hanging in the dark between them that had fallen with the sinking sun. The streetlights back on the boardwalk were their only source of light.

“What happened with all that, Tones?”

Tony just sat there for a moment, breathing. It wasn’t something he liked to relive, but if anyone deserved to hear it, it was Rhodey. He was probably the only person Tony could physically force himself to tell, not even Pepper got the full story. He did tell Jarvis when he had to, but it was bare details only. It wasn’t even necessary, since apparently Jarvis knew Howard from the war, but Tony owed it to Edwin for taking him in. Now, he supposed, he owed it to Rhodey.

“We were on our jet,” Tony started, slow and tentative, “I pissed him off somehow, I was always pissing him off somehow. I never knew what I did. Maybe it was nothing. Then we touched down, and he told me to find a place to stay. He’d be in meetings all day, and we could meet up to fly back that night.”

He took a deep breath, centring himself. Bruce would be proud.

“I showed up at the terminal an hour early, bored out of my mind. We were in a country where I knew no one and didn’t speak the language, so it wasn’t like it was the height of luxury for me. I sat there, waiting, for hours. I didn’t even ask anyone about it until the middle of the night. Turns out Howard left an hour after we touched down, told the lady at the desk to pass along a note. All it said was not to come home, I wasn’t welcome, and I had been cut off.” Tony scratched at his chin. All he wanted was a shot, a sip even, of the vodka that sat on the other side of Rhodey. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, but that didn’t stop the wanting. “I guess he was just looking for an excuse to pawn me off, and he took the opportunity he saw. I realized then why he kept me out of the media growing up. He didn’t want to deal with the fallout when it went sideways.”

Rhodey sat a minute in the dark – long enough to make Tony squirm – then let out a long low whistle. “That’s fucked up, man.”

Tony choked out a laugh. “Tell me about it.”

“That sucks, Tones, really, but not everyone is as crappy as your dad. I thought you’d learned that by now, but apparently I’m not doing a good enough job as your best friend.” Rhodey scooted over, draping an arm across Tony’s shoulders. “I’m here for you man, always. I’ll keep telling you that until it gets in your thick head, all right?”

Tony was suddenly glad for the blanketing darkness since it meant Rhodey couldn’t see the intense blush rising over his cheekbones. “Thanks, honey bear.”

“Just promise me this:” Rhodey said, suddenly serious. “If you ever get the urge to drink or get high or whatever you ended up doing at the end there, call me. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s up, okay?”

Tony nodded, glancing down at Rhodey’s fingers, how they stood out in the dark against Tony’s fairer complexion. Those hands that had always picked him up when he was too strung out to walk, that had covered his own when Rhodey first taught him how to flip an omelette in the pan, that had once, just once, cupped Tony’s cheeks so tenderly he thought he might die. “I promise.”

Rhodey squeezed his shoulders tight. “We’re getting that third star, man. And we’re doing it together.”

Tony’s heart swelled. “Love you, Rhodes.”

Rhodey’s head dropped to press his forehead into Tony’s shoulder. Tony could feel Rhodey’s hot breath on his neck.

“Love you too, Tones.”

Like he said before, some of what he wanted was better than nothing, right? Right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact, while this story was mostly modelled off the plot of Burnt, it was not, in fact, inspired by the movie originally. The idea actually popped up when I was watching an episode of Hell’s Kitchen and Gordon Ramsey was with Jean-Phillipe and his chefs on the beach and pulled the same move that Rhodey did, picking Jean-Phillipe up and tossing him into the water. I thought that was fucking hilarious and a very Rhodey thing to do with an Ults-type Tony, and voila, this was born. 
> 
> Originally, though, Tony wasn’t going to be the chef at all and it was going to be Rhodey coming back to get his third star after a stint in the air force, and Tony was the maitre d’ instead of Pepper. A lot has changed since that first draft.


	9. Back in the Saddle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is one of my least favourite Aerosmith songs, actually, which is saying a lot.

“He didn’t mean it, right?”

Bruce frowned, half-standing with a handful of vials filled with Tony’s blood slotted between his fingers like wine glasses. “I’m sorry?”

Tony scratched at his jaw, using his other hand to gesture behind him like Bruce could go back to see the exact moment from yesterday that was on repeat in Tony’s mind. “That he loved me. He meant as friends, which is fine, but still. Makes a guy wonder, you know?”

Bruce looked at Tony for another moment, still confused, before standing fully and walking over to the other side of the room to continue his task of labelling and sorting Tony’s blood samples. “This is about your sous chef, right? The one you met in Paris?”

Yes, that was what he’d called Rhodey half an hour ago when he walked in, ranting about last night. He sure as shit said a lot of stuff in between then, too. “You weren’t listening this whole time, were you?”

Bruce looked back, shrugging bashfully. “I’m sorry, but I told you before that I’m not really that kind of doctor, Tony.” 

“Whatever, that’s not the point.” Tony waved it away, leaning back in his chair. “What’s the verdict, doc? Am I clean?”

“You know I don’t get the results back for another week or so.” Bruce sat back down at the table, packing up his supplies. “And, you know, while I’m not a therapist, I might be able to help anyway. As a friend, that is.”

“Oh yeah?” Big words coming from a man that just zoned out for thirty minutes of heartfelt conversation. “How so?”

Bruce sighed. “I know more than you think.” He stopped packing up and sat with his hands still on the table between them. “I know, for instance, about how you have a very similar relationship with Pepper, but with her in your place.”

While Tony was well aware Pepper had loved him for years, it wasn’t something that he expected his pseudo doctor/sober sponsor to know about. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Maybe she has some valuable input.” Bruce offered.

“Yeah I know I’m selfish,” Tony bit back, “but I’m not an asshole enough to use her feelings for me to get into someone else’s pants.”

Bruce’s lips quirked into a sad half-smile. “If it were just getting in Rhodey’s pants I don’t think you would care this much.”

“Yes, that’s the exact issue. I care too much.”

“And you see that as a problem?”

There was something about Bruce’s tone that made Tony feel like he was walking into a trap, but he went ahead anyway, like the reckless dumbass he was. “It is a problem, since I can’t stop thinking about it. It hurts, all the time. He’s like cocaine – I love the high he gives me but coming down is worse than anything.”

“The fact that you used cocaine as a metaphor here is a little concerning, Tony.” Bruce fidgeted with his glasses. “But I do understand your point. Unfortunately, that’s just how unrequited love is. Though if you ask me, it might not be as hopeless as you’re probably imagining.”

Tony frowned, squinting his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Bruce settled his glasses back on the bridge of his nose, looking Tony straight in the eyes. “After everything that happened, everything you did and how you hurt him, he still came back to help you, even though he didn’t have to. Pepper and Natasha and Hank all benefited from this, but Rhodey had a successful restaurant. He was doing well, he didn’t need this. So why did he say yes?”

That...was a good question. Natasha got a good job straight out of jail with someone who wouldn’t judge her or pry into her past, Pepper was mostly convinced by Christine but also was getting all the money and foot traffic out of the deal, and Hank wasn’t doing too well on his own anyway. Rhodey had it pretty good, and the chance at another star wasn’t exactly enough to sway most people to leave their cushy job to throw in with a known drug addict who’d hurt them pretty bad in the past. 

Which raised the question: what was Rhodey really sticking around for, if it wasn’t the job?

It could be the whole band getting back together, but Rhodey signed on before he even knew about that. He had more freedom with the recipes with Tony, but he could have started his own restaurant easily with the good reputation he’d built up in Tony’s absence. Maybe it was an obligation to do one last favour for Jarvis, or some sense of responsibility over Tony – that big brother instinct he’d had since the day they met that had gotten Tony out of more jams than he could count. Either way, no matter what Bruce thought, it didn’t mean Rhodey loved him, right?

Right?

“We’re done here, so I’ll just leave you with this,” Bruce cut into Tony’s inner monologue, laying a hand flat on the table between them like an offer, “If yesterday at the beach having fun and eating dinner and drinking by the sunset wasn’t a date, then what was it? Because it doesn’t exactly sound like a purely platonic excursion to me.”

Bruce stood and left the table, presumably going to run tests on Tony’s blood or something. Tony didn’t register it anyway, not with the bomb Bruce had dropped on the table.

If it wasn’t platonic, was it just how Tony recounted it or was it really something else? And if it was something else, then what, exactly, was it? 

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. They had a service tonight, and Tony had to be there for prep. His feelings for Rhodey had waited over a decade to be resolved, they could wait a little while longer.

\--

Tony tried his best to forget that anything had ever happened for the next few services. Things were still tense after Tony’s little outburst, but the surge in tables kept them all busy enough that they could keep it together pretty well during service. Natasha kept Clint in line helping her out on fish, Harley held his own and injected some backbone into Peter, and Hank and Steve were both working hard to make themselves the star of the kitchen. Steve caught Tony’s eye first, being the meat chef who was responsible for most of the dishes going out, but Hank was surprisingly reliable on veg, leading the kitchen from his station with his loud calls and perfect timing. 

There were still fights, obviously. Clint and Hank tried to cut each other down, with Natasha throwing fuel on the fire. Steve was still being stubborn and railing against both Tony and Rhodey, and Harley was picking fights with Steve and anyone else who challenged Tony out of some misplaced hero worship, probably egged on by his boyfriend Peter. They all kept it outside of service though, mostly, so Tony was content. As long as they worked hard and the food kept coming out perfect, he didn’t care if they were best friends or not. That wasn’t his responsibility, anyway.

Regardless, if he could keep all his feelings over Rhodey locked up for the past decade, they could damn well deal with whatever problems they had off the clock. Well, mostly.

But hey, at least the front of the house was functioning like proper adults, for the most part.

“Hey, Tony?” Pepper walked in during a slow period of service, tablet in hand. “I need next week’s menu to be finalized before the end of service tonight.”

Tony nodded at the plate of scallops he was finishing up, sending it off to the nearest waiter without looking to see who it was. He really only knew a handful of them anyway, like Bucky and Daisy and Bobbi. They all seemed to have names people usually grew out of in middle school, but then again who was Tony  _ Carbonelli _ to judge someone based on their name?

“Rhodey? Up to the pass!” Tony shouted over his shoulder into the kitchen at large. He looked over at Pepper then, who had already stopped to converse with another waiter Tony didn’t know the name of. Something about the guy made a part of the back of Tony’s brain light up, like there was a solution to a problem back there just out of reach.

He shook his head, leaving it for later. 

Pepper turned back his way. “My office?”

Tony nodded, following her back. The room had huge windows that he could use to watch the kitchen at work, something he was exceedingly grateful Pepper had kept through the renovations.

“So who was the My Chemical Romance reject you were talking to?” Tony asked, indicating the waiter from a few moments earlier, “I don’t think I’ve seen him around lately.”

Pepper shrugged, laying out papers on her desk - way too many to just be the proposed menu changes. “I hired him a few weeks ago, but he was finishing out at his last job. His name is Loki something - he’s working to have his surname legally changed over some botched adoption deal? He’s pretty tight-lipped about it.”

Loki. That was a weird name, one Tony definitely would have remembered if he’d heard it before. The guy probably just had one of those faces.

“So the menu?”

Tony nodded, letting his gaze wander over to Rhodey at the pass. He was taking command easily, pulling rank without hesitation. There was sweat collecting on his brow that he wiped off with a towel, licking away at the droplets on his upper lip with a long swipe of his tongue. Tony’s gaze was mostly, however, distracted by the way Rhodey’s arms bulged underneath his white coat, pressing at the creases and seams that curved under the strain. He really needed to get a size up, he must have felt constricted trying to reach and grab and stretch with the thick fabric so tight on his arms, but there was no way in hell Tony would ever suggest that.

“Tony!” Pepper shouted, like it wasn’t the first time she’d called his name.

He jerked his head her way. “Yes, honey?”

She raised her eyebrows, looking pointedly at the cardstock in her hands that held the past week’s menu. “You want to get started now, or do you want to ogle your boyfriend some more?”

There was a pinched quality to her tone. Tony knew she loved him. He also knew that if he caught Rhodey staring at anyone else like that there’d be a whole hell of a lot more than a pinched quality to his tone. “Right, the menu. Complete overhaul.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Her face went flat like she was already drafting up a statement to the press. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Gotta keep it fresh, Pep. I can’t get caught resting on my laurels.” He explained, scratching at his beard. “Plus what if we have a spy? All new staff, one of them could still be loyal to Hank’s old place or even Hammer-”

Tony stopped himself. That was where he knew the new waiter, from Hammer’s restaurant. He fit into the whole futuristic black and white theme that Tony’s eyes completely passed over him then, but here, in Tony’s own restaurant, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Speaking of,” Pepper talked over his realization like she didn’t even notice he stopped. She definitely did notice, but she probably decided he was just staring at Rhodes again and chose to ignore it. “Hammer’s opening a new place in the Financial District and he sent over an invitation. I suggest you go.”

That...actually wasn’t a bad idea. If Hammer was bold enough to send a spy into Tony’s place, then the opening was almost definitely either a trap to get Tony away from the restaurant or a way for Hammer to feel smug and superior if Tony hadn’t noticed yet. Knowing Justin, probably both. He was a smarmy little rat, and he always had another plan in the works.

“Menu first, then we’ll discuss who’ll be my date to the Princess Ball.” Tony insisted. “We’re switching the scallops for langoustine and adding turmeric to the risotto to give it some colour against the celery root puree.”

Pepper, ever the wonderful maitre d’, jotted the new dishes down while simultaneously arching an eyebrow at Tony. “Who in the world would you be considering as a date to Justin Hammer’s new restaurant opening?”

Tony smirked, “Well, you and Natasha are the only age-appropriate women in my life, and given I want to keep my balls where they are, I’d say you, Miss Potts.”

Pepper pursed her lips, making the edges that crept up to her coral lipstick turn whitish. “Fine. It’s tomorrow at eight, but since I know you won’t leave the restaurant for a full service, I’ll pick you up here with your tuxedo in the car at seven.”

“What would I do without you, Pep?” Tony smiled like it was a joke. They both knew it wasn’t.

“Set the place on fire within a day.” She shot back immediately, dry as she liked her martinis. “Any other menu changes?”

Tony sighed and sat in the armchair across from her desk, just barely keeping himself from kicking his shoes up on the desktop if only because the last time she threatened to stick wet gum into the toes of all his loafers the next time he did. “That Loki kid...could you get Coulson to keep an eye on him? Something about him feels off.”

Pepper rolled her eyes like she knew exactly what he was thinking. She probably did. “He’s not a spy, Tony, but yes. I’ll let Phil know after service tonight.”

“Good.” Tony nodded, taking a pen out of his sleeve pocket just to fiddle with. “The sea bass is switching to arctic char, but the filets are all staying the same. Though Harley did have a good idea for a new sauce a few services ago, I’ll see if he has a sample tonight and get back to you on that.”

“How do you even do inventory like this?” Pepper’s handwriting looped between the lines of the printed menu, bright green against sharp black.

Tony scoffed. “That’s what interns are for.”

“Dishwashers are not interns, Tony.” Pepper scolded. “For one, you pay your dishwashers.”

“Says you.”

Her reaction was sharp and immediate. “Antonio Edoaro Carbonelli,  _ please _ tell me you’re paying Parker to work here.”

Tony just laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> know I said Clint would help as a host, but I envision him more as a high-class expo, aka the bridge between front and back of house, or the waitstaff and the kitchen. He’s probably a swing, helping prep both ends and basically lending a hand wherever needed. I struggled a lot deciding exactly how Clint would factor in because I love him and love to write him, but I also knew he didn’t fit into the slots I had created for the characters. Thus, he’s a go-between to keep everything running smoothly, keeping an eye on things, and being a helping hand to both Natasha and Phil. His main asset is his eyes, however, just like in the movies and comics. More on that later.


	10. Full-Tilt Divas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from the scene in The Avengers immediately after Coulson’s “death.” I imagined the song in the background of this long scene is the one Obie plays on Tony’s piano in IM1: Antonio Salieri's "Concerto in Do Maggiroe Per Pianoforte eo Orchestra: Larghetto.” Fun fact about that actually, the recording of the song used in the movie was played by the movie’s composer Ramin Djawadi and was exclusive to the film, and wasn’t even included on the soundtrack for that reason.

“Hammer’s opening starts in twenty minutes,” Pepper said as she walked into the kitchen. “We need to leave.”

“I’m sorry, what? You actually meant it when you said all that shit about pulling me off service?”

He could hear Pepper’s eye roll without glancing up from the tilapia he was saucing. 

“You agreed to it yesterday, so you’re going,” she retorted, “Is that tilapia? Since when did we get a new fish on the menu?”

“Since last night, when I passed a fishmonger by the pier who was very persuasive. Called it the Chef’s Special.” He finished plating and handed the dish off to Skye, who was doing a much better job of being on time, this service. “Why should I go to Hammer’s shindig again? I seem to remember you saying he was...what was it? Sweaty and repulsive?”

Rhodey chuckled as he smoothly got between Tony and the pass. Tony almost resented him for it, but decided to let it slide this time.

Tony looked up at Pepper, actually seeing her for the first time since she walked in. She was wearing a lovely royal blue dress with a v-neck in front and Tony saw it start to hang off her shoulders, probably leading to an open back. Her hair was flowing in perfect curls that probably took hours to get just right. 

“Nice dress,” Tony said instead, very aware of the way anything else could sound. “It’s stunning, really. You look...stunning.”

Pepper raised an eyebrow, managing to look unimpressed through her blush. “And you look like you’re covered in pan grease and beurre blanc and- is that motor oil?”

Tony ran a hand through his hair, wincing at the way it clumped around his fingers. “I don’t know, probably. I was messing around with Harley’s bike earlier.”

“You’re a human disaster.” Pepper almost sounded shocked at the revelation, as if she hadn’t known him to be much, much worse.

“Seconded,” Rhodey chimed in before Tony could come up with something clever to say back. Really, they were right, so he just kept his mouth shut.

“Come on,” Pepper grabbed his wrist, pulling him along. “We’re going to be late. I have dry shampoo and a comb in the car, the tux is in my office.”

Tony grinned at her. “I love a woman who can do everything without breaking a sweat.”

“More like you love men who can do everything and still come back for more.” Pepper shot back with a knowing look before shoving Tony into her office and locking the door.

Tony just looked at the tux laid over the chair in the empty office, the clock turned around on the desk to face him and remind him that he only had 17 minutes until the party started, which meant he had 45 minutes to get there in New York traffic if he wanted to be fashionably late.

He changed as quickly as he could, not even bothering with the bowtie. Pepper would do it in the car or he’d leave it off entirely, he didn’t care which. He stalked out of the office 6 minutes later looking at least vaguely presentable, and made sure to pass the kitchen on his way out.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” He shouted to the staff at large. Most of them nodded or gave him a wave or, in Parker’s case, a cheeky thumbs up with his arm covered to the elbow in bubbles from the dish soap.

“Is there actually anything in that category?” Rhodey asked, head low over a half-plated steak.

Tony shrugged. “With you, honeybear? Never.”

Rhodey looked up halfway, smirked, and snorted out a laugh. “Have fun on your date, Tones.”

Tony had no idea what to do with that, so he just smiled and booked it to the car that Pepper had waiting.

She was already sitting inside when he slid in beside her, tapping at her phone at top speed.

As soon as the door closed the driver sped off, and Tony looked hard at Pepper, with her nice hair and nice dress and Chanel perfume that wafted off her in waves in the close quarters of the car.

He wordlessly handed her the bowtie, and she sighed before turning the best she could with a seatbelt on to tie it for him.

Her face was close to his, very close, and she was biting her lip a little in that way she had whenever she concentrated hard on something. He could feel her fingers brush against his neck and her breath bloom against his chin.

“Is this a date?” He blurted out without really meaning to.

Pepper paused in her tying, and Tony plowed on.

“I mean, it’s a nice party and you’re wearing a dress that’s just- you look like you should always wear that dress like it was made for you, and now you’re tying this stupid bowtie and Rhodey was probably joking, but was he? You should know I’m not in the market for anything right now and I appreciate you but I really can’t date you.”

Pepper blinked at him, having put some distance between them during his tirade. “Are you done?”

Tony frowned. “Yes?”

“No, this is not a date.” Pepper rolled her eyes. She moved back in to continue where she left off with his tie. “Do I think you’re attractive? Yes. Is there some part of me that wishes you would actually ask me that seriously, wishes you would actually consider a relationship with me? Sure. But if you think for one second that I would compromise my hotel in order to trick you into a date at Hammer’s restaurant of all places, you must be crazier than all the tabloids said you were.”

She finished off the bow with a firm jerk, then moved to smooth down his lapels, looking him in the eye. “I love you Tony, more as a friend than anything else, but yes I love you a little the other way, too. I came to terms with our relationship a long time ago. We would never work together, not only because you’ve been in love with James since I met you, but also because you wouldn’t last three days if I wasn’t around, and I’m not that into incompetence.”

Tony chuckled, a little nervously, but mostly relieved. “I’m not so sure about that. I could get at least a week.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “What’s your social security number?”

“Five.”

“Five? What about the other eight?”

Tony smirked. “I’d figure it out eventually.”

He knew what it was, mostly, but she did have a point. 

She levelled him with a serious look. “Even if that was true, without my advice you’d have no idea what to do with your James problem.”

“Bucky?” Tony asked, feigning ignorance, “I heard he’s doing well in the front of house, actually. Really pulling his weight, more than, with the whole loss of arm situation. He does kind of look like a raccoon, though. That might lose us some points.”

Pepper shook her head, leaning back in her seat to look out her own window. “He loves you too, you know.”

Tony’s mood suddenly turned sour. “Don’t get my hopes up like that, Pep.”

She looked sharply back at him. “You know I would never do that.”

Tony shook his head, leaning his head on his window. New York city passed by in a blur of silhouettes and flashing lights. The perspective wasn’t as good as it was at the top of the Eiffel, looking down at the city he used to own, but it felt just as genuine, just as humbling. “You’re wrong. He tells me all the time we’re brothers. He doesn’t look at me that way.”

Pepper stayed silent for a long moment before speaking. “Did I ever tell you about his girlfriend Carol?”

Tony jerked his head around to stare at her, but she was back on her phone, typing away.

“It was before you showed up, a few months I think, and he met this girl, this pilot with the air force on a base in France for an assignment. She didn’t speak any French, so when she asked him a question in a truly horrible accent, he responded in English and they hit it off immediately.”

“Pep, I don’t-”

She held up a finger. “Let me finish.”

Tony threw up his hands, sitting back in his seat.

“They hit it off easy, spent all their free time together, which granted wasn’t often. She was a little perfect, independent and headstrong and a little chaotic. She wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty, and she could match him blow for blow in anything she put her mind to. He was absolutely enamoured with her.”

Tony frowned. His heart was beating painfully against his sternum, but he stopped himself from rubbing at it. “What happened?”

Pepper shrugged, locked her phone and put it in her purse. She met Tony’s eyes. “She came out as gay, married her best friend Maria and they raised a kid in Lousiana somewhere, as far as I know. That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” Tony snapped. All this talk about Rhodey’s perfect girlfriend, the one that got away, was fraying at his nerves.

“The point is, when you came along he started acting around you in the same exact way.” Pepper placed a hand on his knee. “He tried to put some distance between them, calling her his little sister, his buddy, anything to hide what he felt. James has always been afraid of losing people close to him, I don’t know why, but I know it’s true. He doesn’t take risks unless there’s someone to have his back, and in relationships, there’s only one way that happens. James doesn’t want to take that risk.”

“Or it could just be that we’re close enough friends he considers me like a brother anyway.” Tony countered. “None of that is proof, and I deal in facts. The facts are, we’ve known each other for years and he’s never made a move, I have to believe that’s because he’s not interested.”

Pepper pursed her lips at him. “You’ve never made a move either, Tony. Chances are, he’s thinking the same thing.”

Tony shook his head, pulling away from her hand on his knee and looking back out the window. “Let’s just focus on getting to the bottom of this Loki situation, okay?”

Pepper leaned back, taking it all in stride. “I still think you’re overreacting, but fine. We can ask Justin if he’s got anything underhanded going on, but I don’t know why you think he’ll admit to anything.”

“He won’t have to,” Tony set his jaw, putting all the Rhodey talk in the back of his mind to focus on the task ahead of him. “His shifty eyes will say it all.”

\--

Hammer’s opening was much more lavish than Tony would have given him credit for. Then again, Justin always did have a tendency to favour style over substance. He was, as Rhodey would say, all sizzle and no steak.

Most of the partygoers seemed too dazzled to share Tony’s point of view, however, given how lively the event was. Couples in tuxedos and evening gowns were mingling in all the available space in what Tony assumed was usually the dining room of the restaurant, snacking on hors d’ œ uvre versions of the upcoming dishes. Tony recognized a few faces - Peggy and her husband Daniel, Reed Richards and Sue Storm, Vincent Von Doom (why he hadn’t changed his name to something less...threatening, yet was beyond Tony. He looked damn good though) - but even more were unfamiliar to him. That’s what he got, he supposed, for being out of the game for so long.

Hammer himself was amongst the crowd, glad-handing and generally sticking his smarmy nose into every conversation he could. Only a few seconds after they walked in, Hammer’s sharp gaze locked onto Tony and Pepper, and he gained an urgency in his step.

Tony would have honestly walked out and not looked back if Pepper hadn’t dug her fingernails so hard into his arm that it probably drew blood.

“Anthony! Well, don’t you look spectacular.” Hammer greeted, reaching for Tony’s hand. Tony snatched it away before Justin could even come close.

He turned his charm onto Pepper, instead.

“And Virginia, you’re certainly on your thirty-one, now aren’t you?”

Pepper smiled tightly while Tony rolled his eyes. Of course Justin would play up his Frenchness, mixing idioms to gain points with his easily impressed followers. Just because he spoke French, didn’t mean he was the next Julia Child.

“The restaurant smells wonderful,” Tony smirked, “Is that fir wood you’re using to smoke your meat? How fitting.”

Hammer’s smile only falters for a fraction of a second. “It’s cedar, actually. But I’m glad you’re enjoying your time so far. It’s lovely to have another esteemed chef be present for the grand opening of Wartime Whisk.”

“Oh?” Pepper smiled balefully. “I wasn’t aware the restaurant had such an ...interesting name.”

Tony scoffed. “What’s the gimmick this time? Gonna start building weapons out of kitchen equipment?”

Hammer turned up his nose. “The menu will be inspired by the headlines. We’re only going to serve dishes inspired by countries that the United States is in conflict with. A part of the proceeds will go towards protecting our brave countrymen, of course, but the allure is the adventure. You never know what will happen day to day in this country.”

If Tony didn’t know any better, he’d say this was a ploy for Hammer to get at him, poke at the tender parts of Tony’s past. But then again, Tony did know better, and he knew Justin was nowhere near smart enough to put the pieces together.

What that did mean, though, was that there were bound to be warmongers in attendance, some of whom might actually recognize Tony. Chances were slim, of course, but not impossible. That was an unexpected danger.

It was time to wrap this up.

“Well, Justin, as great as this all is,” Tony gestured to the party at large, “I came here with a question in mind.”

Hammer raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Tony took that as an invitation. “Your man Loki. How much did you pay him to spy on me?”

Hammer’s face immediately fell into something akin to a pout. “Excuse me? Spy?”

“We both know you need the help, Justin. Just give me a figure. I want to see how much my recipes go for these days.”

“Tony,” Pepper chided.

“Anthony, I’m hurt.” Hammer splayed a hand over his heart. “Loki, my former waiter, quit on his own. I didn’t know he’d come to you, and I certainly didn’t ask him to  _ spy _ on you. Unlike you, I have morals.”

Tony geared up to say more, but Pepper stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “We didn’t mean to accuse you, Justin, but you have to admit it does seem a little suspicious.”

Hammer threw his hands in the air. “Suspicious? A waiter applying to work as a waiter? In what world is that means for such heinous accusations?”

Tony frowned. Hammer was getting a little too dramatic about it all. He would never admit it of course, the sleazeball had  _ some _ brains in his head, but he was also a terrible liar. If anything, Tony was more convinced that Loki was up to something, and if Hammer didn’t put him up to it, he at least knew what Loki was doing.

“You’re right,” Pepper sympathized, rubbing a hand along Justin’s shoulder. “That was out of line, I apologize for the both of us. Let me make it up to you, I can get you in on our deals with some of the vendors here. Tony’s charmed quite a few of them, and I’m sure I can get them to help you out with your new venture here.”

Hammer’s eyes jumped back and forth between Tony and Pepper, eventually sticking with Pepper. “Fine. Only because I know Tony would never apologize.”

Pepper gave him a smile like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, leading him along to the center of the crowd. She took out her phone with her other hand, shooting off a quick text.

Tony’s phone beeped a second later.

_ I’ll distract him, do what you need to. I can find a ride home if you leave before me. _

Tony huffed and sent back a thumbs-up emoji. While it made him squirm to think that he was leaving her to the wolves like that, he knew that Pepper had done this time and again, and she could more than handle herself with these people.

“Tony!” A deep voice shouted from behind as soon as Tony had put his phone back in his pocket. It had been a decade at least, but Tony still knew exactly who that voice belonged to.

“Obie?” He turned around, and there was Obadiah Stane, dressed in a tuxedo and matching white scarf, strutting up like he owned the place. He was bald now, that was new, but the bushy beard was the same, though there was much more grey in it now.

It was startling to see him after all these years. The man was like a surrogate father back then, always listening to Tony and taking care of him. He’d assumed Howard told Obie he was dead, which was why Obie never went looking for him. Tony knew, though, if he’d reached out to Obie now that he was back it would only complicate things. He’d planned to show off after he got the stars, after he was established and had no reason to make a run for the company, since Obie had always been a little paranoid that people were trying to usurp him and Howard. Looks like that reunion was catching up to him a little too early.

Obie got close and slung an arm over Tony’s shoulders in greeting. “Anthony Edward Stark, as I live and breathe. We all thought you were dead but then, well, I heard a rumour you were back in town making trouble.”

Tony smiled, shaking his head. “I’m not here for any of that, Obie. The name, the company, I’m not interested. I just want to keep my restaurant in Pepper’s hotel.”

Obie pulled back a little, keeping one broad hand on Tony’s shoulder, face close. There was something different in Obie’s eyes, a cold steel that was always present but never this near to the surface. “‘Pepper’s hotel,’ that’s cute. I own that building Tony, and everything inside it. What’s to say you won’t want that back from me one day, that and everything else?”

The hand on Tony’s shoulder tightened, digging into his collarbone uncomfortably. The pain in the center of Tony’s sternum was back, and he fought the urge to rub it away. “What are you saying, Obie?”

“I’m saying you should have stayed gone, Tony.”

Tony didn’t want the company or the Stark name, that was true, but with the way Obie was talking, he got the sense there was more to it. There was something Obie was keeping from him. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Obie, but Howard’s gone now. If I wanted you out, there’s nothing you could do to stop me.”

Obie chuckled and looked behind him, towards the crowd of people and even Pepper in the distance, who must have circled back and decided to keep an eye on them from a distance. Tony knew she was good.

Obie leaned in closer, licking his lip, smiling his big press smile. “Oh, Tony. How are you still so naive?”

The air in the room suddenly dropped ten degrees. Time froze, and nothing was left except the two of them there, Tony still and silent while Obie loomed over him with the predatory grin on his face.

“You think Howard left you? His little golden goose? He needed you.” Obie continued, unaware of Tony’s minor (major) breakdown, or maybe just choosing to ignore it. “All those blueprints you scratched up when you weren’t harassing the chefs or serenading your junkie mother, they were what kept the company afloat. Do you think you did those for fun? To make daddy proud? He was out of juice until you came around, Tony. His little workhorse.”

“No.” Tony shook his head. He knew Howard was a dick, but this? This was almost too much.

Obie. The man who practically raised him, who loved Maria like a sister and had Tony call him “uncle,” who taught him to play classical music on the piano to compliment Maria’s soft lyrical notes, who taught him how to shave and tie a tie and fake confidence when you didn’t feel it. Tony was the man he was today because of Jarvis, sure, but Obie came first. All the potential he had to give to Jarvis to cultivate came from Obie. And now...now none of that was real?

Obie leaned in even closer, and Tony could smell the acrid whiskey on his breath. “If you haven’t connected the dots yet, I’ll lay it out for you. I wrote the note, Tony. I told Howard you ran away, that some back alley mugger stabbed you and we needed to get some distance from the whole affair. He lapped that shit up, let me tell you. Always the family disappointment. If it weren’t for your little inventions, he would have gotten rid of you himself years before that.”

Tony took a deep breath, fighting back his panic - a trick Obie taught him years ago before he presented his inventions to the SI engineers. “Why?”

Obie laughed deep in his chest like Tony had told a hilarious joke. “You know why, Tony. With you out of the way, I own the entire weapons industry. I’m richer than god, now. No one can touch me -- except for you, that is.”

Obie’s fingers were digging deeper, leaving bruises in the dip of Tony’s collarbone.

“I don’t want all that blood on my hands, Obie.” Tony mustered up the energy to glare at the older man. “I’m done with all that. I just want to be left alone.”

There was barely any distance between them now, the alcohol on Obie’s breath and the grip on his shoulder stirring up bad memories of Howard on those late nights when his hands got heavy, swinging bottles at Tony’s jaw.

“Always so altruistic.” Obie spat, as if the word was an insult. “If you wanted to be left alone, you should have stayed gone.”

Obie’s attitude turned on a dime, smiling big at Tony with a mouthful of teeth too large for his head, like a shark. 

“This was a good talk, Mr. Potts.” Obie patted hard on the bruises he left on Tony’s shoulder. “Good luck with your restaurant.”

And with that Obie was gone, and Tony was left with the weight of everything he’d said.

Howard didn’t betray him. Howard thought he was dead, his  _ mother _ thought he was dead, that he was buried in some empty grave in France where no one would ever be able to visit him. Obie did that, Obie abandoned him and left him to rot. The one good father figure he had before he met Jarvis betrayed him, and for what? For money? For control of a bloody empire that wrought the deaths of millions?

Is that all that Tony’s life was worth?

Before he knew it he was out the door, running without a destination in mind. His feet would hurt like a bitch after this, running for blocks in shittily designed dress shoes, but he didn’t care, or couldn’t. Everything he knew was a lie, and he just lost his last family member from his past. Obie took that from him.

Tony reached the hotel, the hotel with his father’s name on it, with Obie’s name on the lease, with his name on the restaurant. An unholy trinity of fuck ups and cheats.

He made his way to the elevator and into his room without noticing the steps to get there. He just blinked and when he opened his eyes he was sitting in front of the mini-fridge in his hotel room, the one that Pepper had emptied when he first booked a room but the maid had mistakenly filled back up.

There was bottle after bottle of beer, tequila, vodka, wine. He eyed the scotch on the shelf of the door, his preferred brand. He imagined the taste - fire and leather, his dad’s garage, the feeling of hot metal in his hands - and could almost feel the bite in the back of his throat. It would make him nice and loose, first. Bleed away at the anxiety that had a tight grip on his muscles. Then he’d get dizzy, then confident, then everything would just disappear. It always disappeared, after a little while. Soon, if he was lucky, he’d blackout and forget everything about this stupid night.

His fingers wrapped around his phone in his pocket. He’d promised Rhodey he would call if he ever felt the urge to drink again.

Rhodey was probably sleeping by now, or still in the kitchen dead tired as he closed up shop. He probably didn’t want to deal with Tony’s shit right now. No one did.

Tony sighed and closed the door to the fridge. He sat with his back against the bed, phone face up between him and the fridge. It had a glass front, the booze was all still visible, and Tony couldn’t tear his eyes away. He couldn’t stop looking, couldn’t force himself to deal with the fact that Obie betrayed him, left him to fend for himself with no money and no one he could even talk to. Obie had left him for dead, for all he cared.

And so Tony stared at the minibar, watching the lights flicker to an uneven beat until his eyes fell closed and he didn’t have to think of anything anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here’s a common idiom in Parisian french to the effect of “You smell like Fir” which means, roughly, “you have one foot in the grave.” so that’s what Tony’s comment meant. Justin’s about having your 31, is another french idiom that means dressed to the 9’s. Why 31 you may ask? I have no earthly idea. Many things French people say and do bemuses me.  
> Also, the idea for Wartime Whisk comes from a restaurant in Pittsburg called Conflict Kitchen, with the same concept. I don’t think they donate anything to soldiers, though. That’s just Hammer looking to gain more compassion to play both the foreigner and patriot cards at once.


	11. Invisible Man (Sleeping in Your Bed)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: So you know the big white tyre man that’s the mascot for Michelin Tires? That Michelin company is actually the same that runs the Michelin restaurant rating system. It started as a way to get people to travel and includes a lot more than restaurants. The star ratings are actually completely based on if it’s worth it to travel to go to those places (by car, presumably, since their aim is to sell tyres which was why the original Michelin book only included places in continental Europe), with three stars meaning “worth a special trip”

It was turning out to be a pretty good service, all things considered. He’d woken up in a haze, twenty minutes after prep had started, and raced to get dressed while filling Pepper in over the phone before he even got down to the kitchen. That meant that, now, Pepper had her eye out for Loki, Rhodey was helping big time at the pass, and the brigade was shaping up to be something that Tony would almost call formidable, for lack of a better word. Things were finally shaping up, now that he knew who to look out for.

That didn’t stop it from all going downhill.

Tony was plating a beautiful swordfish, spooning sauce carefully over the top, when Clint burst into the kitchen with a clatter. A lesser chef would have botched the presentation right up. Luckily, Tony had experience plating dishes while high on a badly-mixed cocktail of meth and cocaine. Not even Clint the natural disaster could shake him.

Clint stopped in front of Tony, right in the middle of the pass, with a screech of his rubber soles on tile. Despite his comic entrance, his face was deadly serious. “They’re here.”

Tony and Pepper had briefed the waitstaff all weeks ago on what to look out for. It was hard, spotting a pair of Michelin tasters, given how inconspicuousness was a large part of their job, but that was why Tony hired the best pair of eyes he knew to keep a lookout.

Tony sent off the plate he had been finishing, putting everything else out of his mind. “Michelin? They’re here?”

Clint smiled, big and toothy. “It’s go time.”

Tony nodded. He spun around to face his chefs, most of which had gone quiet at Clint’s entrance. “You heard him, everyone! I want to taste everything, and I mean  _ everything _ before it goes out. We only have one chance at this, let’s make it count!”

He turned back around and grabbed Clint by the sleeve before he could leave.

“Who’s on their table?” Tony asked.

“Loki. I already had Phil switch it to Daisy when they walked in the door, no worries.” Clint, for some reason, disliked Loki almost as much as Tony did.

Tony thanked him quickly, then got to work. He didn’t make the dish himself, though he was very tempted to, but he did keep an eye on every element that went into it. Rhodey and Hank he left mostly to themselves - they’d proven themselves to be reliable again and again - but Natasha could sometimes be a loose cannon when she got angry, Steve seemed the petty type and might try to get back at Tony for losing him his job at Peggy’s, and Harley was painfully green. He hovered between their stations, offering advice here and there as he saw fit. Steve pulled out a steak before it was ready, Natasha almost got fish skin stuck to her pan, and Harley, well. Harley was doing fine, but seemed to be sweating out his entire body weight. Everything was right on the edge of falling apart, but Tony made damn well sure he kept it together.

“If I have to take over for all of you, I will.” Tony ground out through a clenched jaw. His chest was starting to hurt again, and he absent-mindedly rubbed at it.

It felt like ten years had been crammed into the eight minutes that it took to get everything prepared, but soon it was all ready.

Tony ran up to the pass, shouting in French. “Rhodey! Scallops and risotto to me!”

“Oui, chef!” Rhodey jogged up, a tasting portion of scallops and risotto in hand. He set his pans down next to Tony’s elbow and stayed there.

Tony started plating, shaking his head. “This is my restaurant, Rhodey. I can do this myself.”

“Every man’s an island,” Rhodey said with a near audible eye roll. “Got it. I’m here if you need me, though.”

Rhodey went back to his station, leaving the space at Tony’s side empty and, if he were any less stressed, he might even say a little cold.

He shook it off.

“Natasha! Fish is up!”

He continued like this, calling up each station to present their food individually. Daisy stood across from him at the pass, bouncing up and down impatiently. All that was left was the veg.

“Hank! We’re out of time. Let’s go!!”

“Oui, Tony!” Hank ran up, veg already portioned out and the gratin already plated in its ramekin. “Thought I would save you some time.”

Tony tilted his head, but took the ramekin and plated the rest of the veg. He should have guessed, honestly. Hank was always the best time-keeper, and the best at expediting everything on his station. Tony took a potato slice off the top and tasted it, finding it exceptional. He put the ramekin on the tray.

“Michelin table is ready to go out,” he said in English, for the benefit of everyone.

Daisy took it with an almost painful-looking caution, holding the tray like it was liable to catch fire at any moment.

She walked out the doors, and the whole kitchen seemed to hold its breath.

Phil walked back in a few moments later, steady hands cupped around a dish. He held out the ramekin of the potato au gratin, placing it lightly on the pass.

“They said it was too spicy.”

Clint followed just after, holding Loki by the scruff. The waiter was protesting loudly, saying Hammer paid him for recipes, not to sabotage the Michelin tasters. Half the shit he told Hammer was made up anyway, since he got paid well enough regardless.

Tony tuned him out. This, this couldn’t be. This was his chance, his  _ one chance _ to get it right, and it was...too spicy? Loki wasn’t even anywhere near the kitchen, or the Michelin table. He couldn’t have sabotaged them if he tried. Plus, how would he be responsible for the spiciness of the food. That was Tony’s recipe, it was all his fault.

Except, wait a second. There was no spice in the gratin. He tasted it and it was fine.

Rhodey was at his side in seconds, spoon in hand. Nestled in the center of the gratin was a thick layer of red spice. He took a taste and looked to Tony with a deep hurt in his eyes. “Cayenne.”

Everything else seemed to happen at once. Natasha and Clint raced towards Hank, who was almost falling over with laughter. Harley held up Peter, who almost fainted, and Steve leaned on his station, chest heaving as he stared at the ground.

Rhodey placed his arm around Tony’s shoulders.

Tony shrugged him off.

“Hank?”

Hank just kept on laughing, half held up between Natasha and Clint by the arms. “I was right under your noses, too! I knew you’d underestimate me but really? You never suspected me for a second!”

Someone came behind Tony with a new order but he waved them away. Fuck the dinner service for a minute, none of it would matter without that star anyway.

He walked towards Hank, hands subconsciously curling up into tight fists. “What the hell did you do, Hank? Why did you do this?”

Hank smiled the same way Obie did. All teeth. Like a shark.

“I’m remembering now, something Jan’s father used to say way back when. ‘Never trust a Stark.’”

Tony froze. He could feel his heart racing up to speeds it hadn’t hit since he stopped snorting coke, but his anger ran cold and still. “What did you just say to me?”

“I figured it out years ago. Jan’s best friend disappearing right when you landed in the scene? Edwin’s loyalty to you? The way you always acted like you came from money even when you didn’t have a dime to your name? It was easy to see.” Hank shook his head, trying yet again to escape Natasha’s grip and failing. “I never liked you, not because I was jealous. I hated you because you had everything and you threw it all away. You broke Jan’s heart.” The last sentence came out close to a sob. “She mourned you for months. That’s the reason we broke up you know, because I was sure she was cheating on me with her mysterious friend, the Stark boy. Come to find out you two weren’t even together, she just cared more about you than she ever cared about me.”

“You split because you beat her, Hank!” Tony shouted, hot rage surging back up. “You left her bloody and bruised and it took two grown men to rip you off her.”

Hank shook his head violently, mouth still stretched in an ugly sneer. “Just know this, Stark. If you hadn’t come to me that day with all that nonsense about Darren and his mutiny, I never would have gotten the idea to sabotage you. I would probably have just told you to fuck off. Unfortunately for you, all your high and mighty know-how gave me this idea, to start fights, tear you apart from the inside, then tear down your mantle when my moment came.” Hank laughed, a dirty deranged sound. “Hope you like mediocrity, Tony, because Michelin’s never gonna come back here after that.”

Those final words rang through Tony’s head over and over again. If there was one thing Tony was afraid of, it was mediocrity, and now Hank was bashing him over the head with it. The worst thing was, the dirty traitor was right. It would take years before the Michelin judges would come back, years of reviews and interviews and petitioning the book editors and visiting their office in Paris and a million other things that would consume Tony’s every waking moment. Too many things could happen in that time, there were too many possibilities. His chance to come back, to be the star he knew he could be, was crumbling at his feet.

He took one last look at Hank, still sneering as he tried and failed to spit in Natasha’s face - Natasha who did nothing wrong but be loyal and now she’d have nothing to show for it, none of them would, he broke all his promises and let everyone down and the hotel board might even force Pepper to shut them down after this and where would any of them even go and - he spun around, no longer able to bear all their eyes on him.

Rhodey reached out to touch his arm. Pepper was calling his name. Even Steve’s uneven steps were making their way towards Tony, slapping loudly on the tile underfoot.

Tony took one step, two, calm as he could manage. He reached the door to the alley, pushing it open with a rough shove, his heart hammering in his chest. As soon as the door shut behind him - shut away all the looks and pity and shame - he threw off his chef’s coat, leaving it in the dirty gutter without a second thought, and he ran.

\--

Bruce’s house seemed almost sinister, at night. The plants grew tall and oppressive around the house, protecting it from the world outside under a big green shield.

Tony was never the biggest fan of greenery, anyhow.

He walked up to the door, knocking loudly without a second thought. “Bruce!” He called through the closed door, nearly sobbing. “Brucie bear, let me in.”

The door flew open a second later, revealing Bruce sans glasses, hair askew, wrapped tightly in a threadbare robe over simple pajamas. 

“Tony?” He blinked, squinting. “Tony, what happened?”

Tony couldn’t explain. How could he say that he’d unearthed two betrayals in as many days, by men who’d been there his whole life, men who said they were his allies. Men who pretended to care for him.

He shook his head near violently, willing Bruce to let him in without explanation.

Bruce, thankfully, opened the door further and ushered Tony in.

That was how, twenty minutes later, Tony found himself bundled up in a quilt that smelled vaguely like weed with a steaming mug of jasmine tea steaming in his hands, almost hidden in the depths of the comfiest armchair he’d ever sat in, telling Bruce the whole story.

“I just- he was a friend. I should have noticed earlier.”

Bruce hummed. “People like that are very good at hiding their feelings until the opportune moment,” He said, voice low. It was the first time he’d spoken since they both sat down. “It’s not your job to see people’s bad intentions, Tony. It’s their job not to be duplicitous. You’re not a bad person for believing the words of a trusted friend.”

Tony scoffed. “Just naive.”

Bruce shrugged, leaning back into the couch opposite Tony. The mug he was gripping said  _ I prefer my puns intended _ on it. Tony wanted one. “I would say optimistic, actually.”

“Believe it or not, doc, I haven’t been called that much.” Tony griped.

“I don’t see why not,” Bruce frowned, “You believed so whole-heartedly that all your friends would come back to help you after so long spent away, and you believed that you would get a Michelin Star only a few months after opening a new restaurant in a new country. You have high expectations for yourself and others, but you never think you expect too much. You know you’ll meet them.”

Bruce leaned forward, placing his mug lightly on the coffee table.

“You try to hide it, but honestly Tony? You have more hope for the future than almost anyone I’ve met. That’s one of the things I, and I believe most people, admire most about you.”

Tony stared down into his mug, taking in Bruce’s words. His logic was linear and cohesive, convincing even. Tony just couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that people might like him for his attitude, his heart and hope, over his mind like Howard and Obie used to tell him. The only thing he’d ever been useful for was his mind, growing up, so he didn’t stop to consider that might not always be the case.

Then again, both Howard and Obie were colossal assholes, so anything they said should probably be taken with a grain of salt.

Tony took a sip of his tea.

“I know it’s a lot to digest right now,” Bruce continued after a long pause, having sat back with his mug once again to give Tony space, “But I think that’s something you really needed to hear, especially now. You’re welcome to stay here for the night if you’d like, think on that some more. I have a cot in the basement, somewhere, I think.”

Tony shook his head. “No, no. I should go.”

“Do you know where you’re going? I don’t want you wandering the city all night.”

Tony nodded slowly, thinking again of who he could trust. The list was short, but much longer than it was only a few months ago, a few years ago. It might actually be longer than its ever grown before.

Natasha was on there - she was never afraid to tell you exactly how she felt, in Tony’s experience - as was Pepper and Steve - he, too, had told Tony off for being an asshole too many times to be harboring any hidden resentments - and Peter and Harley, too. Clint, Phil, and probably even Christine could be added too.

And, of course, Rhodey. The one person he’d spent his entire life trusting blindly, who hadn’t let him down even once.

Tony sighed, putting his mug down on the coffee table and untangling himself from the cozy blanket. “I know where I have to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh you thought we had uncovered the biggest betrayal? Bam, here's another.
> 
> Original French:   
> to Rhodey: Pétoncles et risotto à moi!  
> to Natasha: Le poisson est maintenant!  
> to Hank: Nous sommes hors du temps. Bougeons!


	12. Black Holes and Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from Muse. I read a fic once which liberally used Victorian flower language, and I’ve been enamoured ever since. The fic in question was Hide A Heart Of War by RayShippouUchiha, definitely worth a read if you’re into Tony/Bucky/Steve
> 
> Also this chapter is unofficially sponsored by the song Smaller by Maria French. It very much feels like a Tony song to me, especially in his rare quiet moments.

Tony sat on the floor of Rhodey’s apartment for a long time, staring at the pictures on the wall without really seeing them. He’d never been there before, despite how many times Rhodey had told Tony he was welcome. Tony did, however, remember the address and where Rhodey liked to keep his spare keys - under the big flowerpot, just like in Paris, but then it was full of thin red pinwheel looking flowers that Jarvis had gifted him -- catchflys, Tony thought they were called. Now it was overflowing with big yellow ragweeds, clumsy but beautiful. Somewhere in his mind, in that far corner he kept memories of his mom that usually hurt too much to think about, Tony remembered that ragweeds were also called ambrosia flowers - the food of the gods.

The apartment itself was spartan. Tony didn’t even need to turn on the lights to make his way around the single table and couch in the main room, using the glow of the neon sign across the street to guide his way. There wasn’t much in the way of decoration or design, just the plain furniture and the framed pictures, arranged in a simple grid on the far wall. It was the only spot you could see from both the living room and the kitchen, so Tony got the feeling Rhodey spent a lot of time looking at those photos. Maybe if he looked at them too he could understand what Rhodey saw, why he followed Tony this time, why he didn’t just walk away from it all.

Most of the pictures were basic family photos, of him and his parents, his aunt, everyone at his niece Lila’s science fair. He remembered, vaguely, that she used to call Rhodey up late at night - though on Montreal time it was probably just after dinner - asking for help with the homework problems that stumped her. Rhodey would always walk wordlessly into Tony’s room in the dark, where Tony was almost always still up on some sort of binge - imagining new dishes or snorting coke, mostly - and hand him the phone. Tony would spend an hour walking Lila through balancing chemical reactions and factoring differentials while Rhodey sat up, half sleeping on the chair in the corner of Tony’s room. As soon as she’d solved all her problems she’d bid Tony goodbye, asking in her excited little voice to say good night to her Uncle James. Rhodey didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was never night when she called, but nearer to dawn. Every single time, he’d stay up to say good night, despite his own need for sleep after a fourteen-hour shift. James Rhodes did everything for the people he loved.

Tony shook his head, dislodging his train of thought. Sure, Rhodey was great to the people he loved, and he loved Tony, but not in that way. Rhodey loved him like he loved Lila, familial and platonic. Nothing more.

His eyes moved down to the only picture on the wall not of family. It was the five of them from back in Paris: Hank and Justin hanging off each other’s arms, Natasha elbowing Tony hard in the ribs, and Rhodey, just laughing at them all.

He stood up and took the picture off the wall, looking at Hank. He was always closest to Hammer, that was for sure. He didn’t even work at Jarvis’ with them when Tony was there - Tony had apparently taken his spot when Jarvis kicked him out, but Justin was still good friends with Hank and the rest of them never figured out why Jarvis fired him, so Hank was always around. Looking back now, he was probably fired for what went down with Jan a few months before that. Jarvis probably didn’t get the news until Tony showed up, started talking about his past life and venting to the only person he could trust. Jarvis was smart, a former army officer, so he probably put the pieces together. Just another reason for Hank to hate him.

In the photo, Hank was smiling. He was laughing along with the rest of them, arm around his BFF Hammer. Tony should have known when Justin tried to betray Jarvis for a stupid promotion, selling secrets to the Russian restaurant down the street. But Hank ratted him out, telling them all what Hammer had done. He’d earned their trust, after that, as more than just Hammer’s friend. That was probably a ploy, too.

But no matter how hard Tony stared at it, there was nothing to point to Hank’s betrayal back then. There was nothing to indicate that it was Hank that hurt Jan, that he was plotting all along, that he was ever as conniving as he’d turned out to be. They all trusted him, just as much as they trusted each other. Hank was one of them, and it turns out he’d use that to get close to Tony, to hurt him. Sure, Tony had pulled that stupid prank as retaliation for shit Hank had said, but they all did shit like that back then. They were young and stupid and hurt as much as they helped.

Hank got hurt far more than helped, Tony guessed, and took it to heart.

He shook his head, looking away from Hank’s stupid smiling face in the picture. Natasha was mostly turned away from the camera as she dug her elbow into Tony’s ribs, probably to hide her huge grin, and Tony’s own face was scrunched up in surprised pain at the assault. She had always been one to pull pigtails of the people she wanted to keep around, so none of that was surprising. 

Then he saw the look on Rhodey’s face. At first glance, it was close to the fond exasperation he carried around Tony almost constantly back then, but at a closer look, there was more to it. It looked almost like the looks Pepper used to give him before he caved and asked her out to get his mind off Rhodey. Less exasperation, more hopelessness, but just as fond. It looked, almost, like Rhodey was in love with him then.

Tony put the picture back on the wall, berating himself. Rhodey didn’t love him as anything more than a brother, that was abundantly clear.

He straightened out the picture, noticing again the odd spot on the wall. It was the only space that could be seen from practically anywhere in the apartment. He wonders, for a moment, why that picture was chosen. There were probably a million pictures of the five of them somewhere, thanks to Hammer’s obsession with disposable cameras, and while very few of them were ever actually printed, Tony was sure Rhodey could get his hands on a better one easily. 

He remembered when the picture was taken, at some seedy bar after work, celebrating Tony’s promotion from line cook to sous chef. He remembered how Rhodey’s eyes lit up at the news, how Natasha played at envious even though she was happy for him. He was like a little brother to them all, a handful of years younger and woefully unprepared for the world at large when he met them and latched on, so none of them could be angry that he’d been promoted over them. Hank and Hammer, looking back, were a little pouty, but that was to be expected. He was miles better than them in the kitchen, but both of them had egos the size of l’Eiffel.

They had spent all night joking around, drinking too much, acting like actual twenty-somethings for once. That was the night he really fell for Rhodey, the night he looked into those warm brown eyes and tumbled into their warm embrace. He vaguely remembered having that realization drunk off his ass, and deciding to do what any well-balanced drunk person would do and try to kiss Rhodey. Rhodey had pushed him off, saying he was drunk, they could talk in the morning. He also remembered Rhodey bringing it up the next morning, and Tony trying to dodge the tough conversation by pretending it was a joke, he was drunk, there was nothing to it.

Looking back, maybe there was something to it. After all, why would Rhodey pick this blurry picture to hang on his wall to see any time he turned his head? None of them were looking at the camera, Tony’s face was a very unphotogenic grimace, only one of Hammer’s eyes was open, and Rhodey looked like he was almost in pain. He must have wanted to remember that night, bring himself back to that moment. The moment Tony kissed him. The moment Tony fell in love.

“Fuck,” Tony muttered to himself, scratching at his jaw. “Pep was right.”

Rhodey didn’t come back out of obligation, he came back for the same reason Tony begged him to come back - to be closer to the man he loved. Because he did love Tony. James Rupert Rhodes was in love with Tony Carbonelli, and nothing in the world could feel more right.

Rhodey was probably helping clear down the kitchen by now, or maybe finishing out service. He was still at the restaurant, at any rate, and Tony had no intention of going back there anytime soon. He would wait for Rhodey there, in the apartment, be there when he got home and they could talk it all out, get their collective shit together. God, he couldn’t believe it took them that long.

Tony sat on the couch, running through all the ways the conversation could go in his head, letting himself forget the embarrassment of today and get lost in his giddiness. The Michelin stars didn’t matter, not if he had Rhodey with him, truly with him this time. He could go to the committee, explain the situation, get on their roster for next year. It would be fine, probably. Plus, even if it wasn’t, Rhodey would have a solution, something Tony wasn’t seeing. Rhodey always knew what Tony wasn’t seeing and how to solve it. It was one of the many things Tony loved about him.

But for now, anyway, he would wait, right here on this couch, until Rhodey got home. He waited over a decade for this moment, he could wait a few more hours.

\--

The next thing Tony knew, he was waking up to sunlight in his eyes. He didn’t even remember falling asleep, but evidently he did, because it was morning now and he was covered in a thin blanket and there was soft music coming from the kitchen behind him.

Or really, Tony realized as he sat up, soft singing as Rhodey hummed to himself, working something on the stove.

Tony couldn’t place the song, something slow and light and soft. He cleared his throat to get Rhodey to look over, then raised his eyebrows. “What’s that song?”

Rhodey shook his head, not pausing in his rendition until the song was done a few moments later. “Omelettes are almost ready, I made yours with peanut butter like you like, you heathen.” He looked up, meeting Tony’s gaze. “And it was Carla Bruni. Now come get your gross smoothie.”

Tony frowned. He recognized the song now,  _ Quelqu’un m’a dit _ , Somebody Told Me, about being told of a secret love. Tony reiterated to himself: Rhodey always saw what Tony himself didn’t.

He got up from the couch and joined Rhodey in the kitchen, grabbing the green smoothie from the countertop. “Is there-”

“Spinach and arugula and every other green thing I could find in my kitchen stuffed in there?” Rhodey interrupted without looking up from his pan. “Yeah, Tones, there is. We used to live together, remember? I remember all your bad opinions on food you make for yourself. How you ever became a chef is beyond me.”

Tony took a long sip of his smoothie. It was exactly as he liked it. “I recognized that my tastes are the outlier and other people like boring shit,” Tony answered. “Like you with your plain cheese omelettes.”

“If you do them right, the classics can be amazing on their own.” Rhodey shot back as he plated the omelettes. He turned around, finally, showing Tony the apron he was wearing. It said, in sparkly pink letters on black, “HOT STUFF COMING THROUGH.” Tony had given it to him on his twenty-third birthday. He was surprised Rhodey still had it lying around. Or, well, given last night’s revelations, he probably shouldn’t be very surprised at all.

Tony felt himself fall that much further in love with the man, something he didn’t think was possible. It was probably the domesticity of the moment, of the bare feet and boxer shorts under Tony’s apron, how he knew exactly how Tony took his breakfast, how he hummed love songs under his breath and took the time to tuck Tony in on the couch after what was probably an exhausting night cleaning up after him at the restaurant. Tony wanted this every morning, wanted all of it so much it hurt. Tony was going to tell Rhodey now, today, exactly what he meant to him. He was going to tell Rhodey he loved him.

Rhodey put the plates down at the only two spots at the small table in the kitchen, gesturing for Tony to sit with him.

Tony moved to do so, more than ready to start this conversation, when the door swung open to his left.

“Guess who’s the most amazing maitre d’ in the world!” Pepper burst in, dressed in last night’s outfit sans the clipboard that always sat on her hip.

Rhodey sighed and took a bite of his omelette. “Why does everyone know how to break into my apartment? I’m going to have to change the locks, now.”

Tony noticed how he didn’t complain earlier when it was just Tony breaking in.

“That won’t change anything if you keep putting your spare key in the same place,” Tony said instead, cognizant of Pepper’s presence.

“It’s kind of cliche,” Pepper agreed, “stuffing it under the planter. The only thing worse would be above the door frame.”

“He used to do that. I stopped him.” Tony said, preoccupied with the sight of Rhodey’s smirk around his fork, how even watching Rhodey roll his eyes sent Tony’s heart into somersaults.

“Anyway,” Pepper waved a hand through the air, “You’re going to apologize after you hear what I did.”

Rhodey hummed. “Finally get Tony to adopt a healthy sleeping and eating schedule?”

“Hey!”

Pepper scoffed. “Not even I can perform miracles. At least, not that miracle.” She pulled a stack of papers out of...somewhere and walked over to the kitchen table to smack them down. “I spent all night on the phone with the Michelin committee, trying to explain the situation to them, and guess what? They confirmed they didn’t have any inspectors in New York last night at all. That wasn’t them, we still have a chance.”

Relief flooded over Tony. Last night changed nothing now, except that they ousted the traitors from their midst. They were back in the running, he could still get his third star.

Without thinking, Tony grabbed Pepper’s face and pulled it close to land a quick, firm kiss on her lips. “Pepper you’re the most amazing woman in my life.”

Pepper’s face flushed to the tips of her ears, and she dropped her gaze to the floor, pulling away from Tony. He realized his mistake as soon as she was out of his range.

Rhodey scoffed a laugh, short and cold. “Don’t let Natasha hear you say that, she might castrate you.”

All the warmth from Rhodey’s voice that morning was gone, replaced with the same tired hurt that Tony heard when he first got back to New York.

He’d gone and fucked it all up again, just as soon as he put himself back together again. He supposed that was inevitable, but right now he couldn’t wallow in the consequences. Right now, he had a restaurant to save.

“I um. I have to go.” Tony ran out of the apartment as fast as he could, doing his best to avoid Pepper’s hurt look and Rhodey’s sudden chilly demeanour. He’d apologize later, probably, and they could all be friends and probably nothing more all over again. He couldn’t think about that, though. He had too much work to do.

He ran out the front door of the building, past the planter full of ragweeds, and headed towards the restaurant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually stole the idea for that omelette from an old friend of mine who absolutely loved to find the weirdest food combinations he could tolerate just to fuck with people. Peanut butter omelettes, he told me, were actually pretty good if you used low-sugar creamy peanut butter. I...didn’t try it. I took his word on that one.


	13. Guiding Lightning Strike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also Muse. This song comes from the first album I ever owned actually, The Resistance. Due to that, I know how to play exactly two songs on the piano all the way through: He’s a Pirate from PotC, and Nocturne in E-flat major, Op. 9, No. 2 by Frédéric Chopin, which is the base for one of the songs on that album, United States of Eurasia. Also, if you’re into The Old Guard, I have a fic under this name for that too because it’s a Good Song. I cannot recommend the song enough, surely.

“All right, kid, you finally got a seat at the big boy’s table. Let’s see what you got.”

Tony had gone to Peter and Harley’s apartment that morning to grab the dishwasher, setting him up at Hank’s old spot a few hours before afternoon prep. He’d stacked the oven full of pans with all the different vegetable dishes they did, lining the prep space beside it with timers set to different numbers. The goal was to get each dish finished at the exact moment its timer went off - no sooner or later.

Peter nodded through the whole explanation, his boyish charm solidifying into something worth moulding. “Yes, Mr. Stark, sir.”

Tony flinched hard. With how many times that name had been used against him in the past few days, it hit so much harder than usual. “Don’t call me that, kid. Chef or Tony or Mr. Carbonelli if you have to. I left the Stark name behind a long time ago.”

Peter’s face scrunched up into an expression that might have been regret. “Sorry Chef Carbonelli. It won’t happen again.”

“Good. Now get ready.”

Peter moved to the oven, hovering his hands over the pan handles.

Tony picked up a timer, pressing the start button firmly. “Go.”

He picked up the rest of the timers, setting them all to start in quick succession, as Peter raced to turn on and off various burners.

He juggled the dishes pretty well, if a little shaky. That could be ironed out, Tony knew. The main thing that mattered here was the timing.

All the timers faced away from Peter, he had no idea how much time was left beyond the fact that he knew how much was loaded onto them. The test was difficult, yes, but in Tony’s opinion there were only two things a great chef needed: a good palate and an accurate sense of time. Everything else could be taught, given time, but some things had to come naturally.

He eyed the timers, watching the one he’d labelled “Kale” click down from 10, 9, 8, 7, 6… Peter was switching pans, throwing the one filled with kale back onto the lit burner.

5, 4, 3, 2…

“Kale!” Peter shouted, just before the timer went off. He ran the pan up to the pass, then went back to his station.

Tony walked over and grabbed the pan, tasting the dish. It was seasoned well, and cooked fine. Not amazing, it was a little bitter from about thirty seconds too few on the heat, but not terrible. He’d eat it, even if he wouldn’t serve it.

The next timer came and went with similar results. Peter was precisely on time, but the next dish was missing salt. The potatoes had half a cube too much butter. The carrots were...actually really good. Okay, so he could cook carrots well. Tony could work with this.

By the time the last timer went off (“Asparagus, heck yeah!” Peter shouted at the 1.5 second mark) Peter was sweating bullets and had a huge grin on his face. “How’d I do?”

Tony shrugged, poking at the bitter greens. “Could be better.”

Peter’s face fell immediately. It was like the kid lived to please.

“But then again,” Tony continued, “It could have been a hell of a lot worse. You did damn good for your first day in the kitchen, kid.”

The smile came back full force, like the sun out of the clouds. “Thanks so much Mr. Chef Carbonelli, sir! I won’t let you down.”

“All right, glad you’re excited.” Tony ruffled the kid’s hair, ignoring his protests. “Now let’s go over what you need to work on.”

Peter stood up straight, saluting energetically. “Sir, yes, sir.”

Tony groaned internally. This kid had energy in spades - it almost made Tony feel old. Almost.

“Hey, nerd.”

Tony’s head jerked up as he stared at the door to the kitchen. In the doorway was a girl about Pete’s age with dark wavy hair bunched up in a messy ponytail and about eight different layers of shirts over mom jeans and Doc Martens.

“Are you...talking to me?” Tony asked. He hadn’t been called a nerd since he was probably fourteen. Then again, he did design tanks for a living back then and publicly announced his best friend was a robot, so he kind of deserved it.

The girl levelled him with a look that said she was highly unimpressed. She waved a dismissing hand in his direction. “Boh.” She said, with a surprising amount of disdain.

Everything she did just confused Tony more. “You speak Italian?”

“Oh, no, um. Not really.” Peter spoke up, fork full of carrots halfway to his mouth. “Just that word. It’s kind of the perfect word for her, honestly. Sums her up.”

The girl smiled, small and private like it didn’t happen often. “Thanks. That means a lot, nerd.”

Ah, so Peter was the nerd. Right. “I’m sorry, I’m a little lost here,” Tony interjected, pointing at the girl. “Who exactly are you, Lindsey Weir?”

She simply looked to Peter, who spluttered awkwardly. “That’s um. Well. That’s MJ. She’s my uh.”

“Girlfriend.” MJ saved him from stuttering even more. “He meant to say I’m his girlfriend.”

Tony rounded on Peter. “I’m sorry, aren’t you dating my sous chef? The one that you live with? What happened there?”

Peter blanched. “MJ was in DC for an internship! Besides, can’t I date both?”

“I don’t know,” Tony countered, “Can you?”

Peter set his jaw, jutting it out like an old comic book superhero. “Yes. Yes I can.”

Tony looked back and forth between his awkward, clumsy, soon-to-be entremier and his apparently calm and collected too-cool-for-school girlfriend. Seems like the kid was attracted to confidence. Not like Tony could blame him, really. Rhodey was nothing if not confident.

He patted Peter hard on the back. “Sure kid, as long as you can handle it.”

Peter shoved his mouth full of carrots, almost choking as he tried to inhale them to escape the conversation. Tony soldiered on.

He looked at MJ. “And what, exactly, are you doing in my kitchen?”

MJ shrugged, holding up a sagging paper bag. “Peter forgot the lunch Harley made him so he made me take it even though they both work in a kitchen full of food and Harley is going to be here in an hour. They’re kind of both idiots, if you couldn’t tell.”

Tony laughed. “Oh, no, I can tell.”

He walked around and took the bag from MJ, peering inside. “PB and J, huh? You’ve got yourself a real charmer there, kid.”

He closed the bag and set it on the pass, looking back to MJ. He tried to size her up a little, maybe intimidate her, but she just stood there, watching him like he was the biggest idiot in the world. He tried to meet it, mustering up his best haughty glare. She didn’t move an inch.

“Remind me to never let you meet Pepper.” Tony gave in, slumping his shoulders. “The two of you together could probably take over the world and we’d all thank you for it.”

MJ raised an eyebrow. “Remind me to get her number by any means necessary, then.”

She looked beyond Tony to Peter, who had finally recovered from his near-choking situation.

“See you later, dork.”

Peter perked up, waving like a five year old in big arcs. “Love you too! See you later!”

MJ smirked and walked away, cool as a cucumber.

Tony turned back to face Peter fully. “See that?” He asked. “That’s the level of confidence I need you to have in the kitchen. Outside you can be a bumbling sap for your super powerful girlfriend, that’s fine. In here, I need you to channel her level of ‘I could not be bothered less by anything you’re doing,’ got it?”

Peter nodded enthusiastically. “Boh.”

Tony smiled. “Now you’re getting it.”

\--

To say the next service started out rough would be severely understating it. The night in Rhodey’s apartment was still bouncing around in the back of Tony’s head, reminding him every few minutes how he fucked up both good relationships in his life in one fell swoop. Even the distraction of Peter’s training couldn’t take it completely out of Tony’s brain.

Every service is half preparation, half mindset. Tony’s prep was on point, everything in its place and every sweep of his hands well-choreographed after over a decade’s worth of services, but his mind was working in twelve directions at once. He longed to talk to Jarvis, see what the man could make of it all, but he knew that if he were ever to reconnect, he couldn’t jump in and unload all his drama without preamble. Jarvis was retired, first off, and had more than enough drama in his life from the unlikely friendship Peggy and his wife had formed over the years.

Another part of his mind was occupied solely with the picture from Rhodey’s wall, the one that said Rhodey also still thought about that kiss from decades ago. The picture that might stay there as a relic of what may never be, now that he’d gone and planted one on the woman who’d loved him for years, right in front of Rhodey’s face.

Tony was, in a word, a mess. And when the head chef isn’t in top form, the whole kitchen goes down with him.

Timings were off all night, a combination of Peter’s inexperience and Tony’s inability to tear his eyes away from the sweat rolling down Rhodey’s arms, the furrow in his brow, the way that Rhodey used to look at him but now hasn’t met his eyes all night.

“Natasha, grab the pass.” Pepper shouted into the kitchen after the third table was restarted due to burnt brussel sprouts. 

“Finally,” Natasha sprinted up, grabbing the spoon straight from Tony’s hand.

Tony stood there for a second, offended. “Do I not get a choice in this?”

“No.” Pepper walked into the kitchen and grabbed Tony by the arm, dragging him around the counter and into her office down the hall.

She threw him through the door, shutting and locking it firmly behind her.

“You need to pull your head out of your ass before you ruin this restaurant single-handedly.”

Tony sighed, not even mustering the energy to fight back. He was just so beaten down, having the most wonderful man in his life - the man who loved him back - taken back away by some stupid mistake. “I know.”

His easy acceptance shocked Pepper, making her drop her arms down to grab Tony’s wrists. “Oh Tony,” She said like he was something precious and pitiful. She wasn’t wrong. “Sometimes being so smart makes you an absolute idiot.”

He dropped his chin, leaning his forehead against Pepper’s. “I fucked it up, Pep. Best thing in my life, and I wasn’t even thinking, and now he won’t even look at me.”

He could feel Pepper’s frown form against his forehead. She pulled back to look him in the eyes. “Tony I have a hypothetical situation for you.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“If James and I got together, came to your house one day and started making out on your couch, would you be able to look at either of us the next day?”

That was...not at all where he expected that conversation to go. Just the thought was a knife in his heart. He pulled away from Pepper completely, rubbing hard at his chest. “I, no? It’d hurt too much. Is this your way of telling me you have the hots for Rhodey now? Because I gotta say there’s kicking a guy when he’s down and then there’s gutting him and leaving him in an alley the day he got fired and divorced. This is starting to feel like the second one.”

Pepper sighed. “So then go pick James up and take him to the hospital and propose to him, or whatever would fit your disturbing metaphor, because he just got to wake up to you in his house, then watch you kiss the woman who’s loved you just as long as he has.”

Tony’s mind screeched to a halt. “Wait wait wait. You think he thinks we’re together? He knows better than that.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “And you know better than to think he’d hate you for bruising my heart a little bit.”

Right, Pepper was collateral damage here and he didn’t even realise. “Oh shit, Pep, I’m a hot mess, I’m sorry.”

She laughed, with more humor than Tony would have in that situation. “You’ve been more like an annoying little brother than a crush for years now. Probably since you ran away to Dubai without even a postcard.”

He scratched at his beard, feeling like a scolded schoolboy. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. I’m an ass.”

“Yes, you are.” She moved into his space, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. “And you should go and tell Rhodey that before he gets too many crazy ideas in his head.”

“Right, yes, I’ll go do that right now.” His heart was ten times lighter, and he felt like he was in a romcom. This was his big moment, when he would confess his love and Rhodey would say it back, and they’d kiss while everyone watched and clapped. It would be cheesy and disgusting and god damn perfect.

Tony all but bowled Pepper over in his eagerness to get back into the kitchen.

She grabbed his wrist tightly before he could make it out the door. The smile on her face reminded Tony of sharks and his father’s business partners. “Wait until after the service, or your disturbing metaphor will turn into a reality.”

Tony schooled his face into something almost close to professionalism. “Yes, ma’am.”

Pepper laughed again and slapped his arm, but let him go.

He walked back up to the pass with renewed purpose, ignoring with great difficulty how Rhodey’s eyes tracked him, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Luckily, if all goes well, Tony would have that lip between  _ his _ teeth by the end of the night. If that wasn’t a good motivator to get dishes out of the kitchen quickly, Tony didn’t know what was.

They finished service and cleaned up with renewed spirits, everyone seemingly getting a boost from Tony’s good mood. All but Rhodey, who spent the remainder of service with his head buried in his station, looking up only when spoken to, and sometimes not even then.

Tony almost stopped service a million times to tell him, to put Rhodey out of his misery and finally let him know how he felt. Everytime he even thought about abandoning the pass, though, either Natasha or Pepper would glare at him so hard he almost felt the heat in their eyes hit the back of his neck.

And so Rhodey unfortunately suffered, looking more and more forlorn as the night went on and Tony’s mood got even better since it meant he was minutes closer to finally, hopefully, getting them both what they wanted. Assuming Pepper was right and Rhodey wanted this, of course, but when had she led him astray? Okay, so quite a few times, many of which involved vodka and greasy fries and cheesy Hallmark movies, but never in something like this. She knew how he felt, she would never risk his heart like that if she wasn’t sure.

Immediately after the kitchen was clean and all the food stored, Tony spun around to find Rhodey, who was suspiciously absent.

“He’s outside,” Phil said from the corner, almost giving Tony a heart attack.

“Does no one think I might have a weak heart after all that cocaine, or do you all just not care?”

Phil rolled his eyes. “James. He was moping around like a kicked puppy, so I made sure to mention that Pepper left early for her anniversary with Hogan, and that I would let you know where he went.”

Tony frowned. “Pep’s dating Happy?”

“For six months now, yes.”

Huh. 

Focus, Tony. “Rhodey’s in the alley?”

Phil hummed. “No, he said he was going to wait at Pont Saint Louis. I’m assuming you know where that is, given we’re a few thousand miles from France.”

That was the bridge where Rhodey first talked to Tony about home, about his past. He told Tony about his family, his years at MIT, the way he almost joined the air force but decided to take a gap year before Westpointe, how he fell in love with Paris and the kitchen and decided to stay. He talked all night, leaning on the railing, his dirty chef’s coat hanging unbuttoned over a too-tight undershirt. He looked at Tony, eyes soft and wide, and told him Tony didn’t have to reciprocate, that if Tony’s past was like he thought that he didn’t want to make Tony relive that.

That was where Tony figured out that, no matter what, he wanted his entire life to revolve around his man, this perfect, beautiful, understanding man that was more than Tony deserved by miles.

There was a bridge like that in Manhattan, almost. He knew exactly where Rhodey was.

He nodded gratefully at Phil, then sprinted out the door towards the alley. It was a brisk night, almost enough to make him feel the chill in his fingers and the tip of his nose, but just warm enough that his chef’s coat was enough coverage for his sprint the few blocks towards Central Park.

He’d mentioned off-handedly to Rhodey one night, when they were near asleep talking out the new menus, that he loved to walk around the park sometimes, especially the older spaces that felt nearly as timeless as Europe. That, and his dad never took him to Central Park. It was one of the few places untainted by either him or Obie by this point.

Tony was panting by the time he got to the bridge, heart pounding out of his chest so hard he thought it might jump out and make the rest of the distance towards Rhodey itself.

Really, he wouldn’t begrudge it if it did, because Rhodey looked absolutely stunning. His chef’s coat was draped over the railing underneath his elbows. There was a cigarette between his long fingers, and every so often he was taking a drag as he looked soulfully out into the night. His biceps were highlighted by the tight hem of his white undershirt, the streetlamp making them shine with leftover sweat from service and lighting his profile sharply from behind. His sinfully tight white t-shirt was tucked into his black cargo pants, accentuating his trim waist. He looked beautiful, even rumpled after a long night with sweat stains drying under his arms.

“You’re right, Tones,” Rhodey said out into the darkness before Tony could fully catch his breath, “It really does feel like Paris out here. Less stars, though.” He looked up, making Tony’s mouth water at the sight of his adam’s apple bobbing in his neck.

Tony said nothing, breaths still coming quicker than his thoughts.

“Those were the best nights of my life,” Rhodey said, almost sadly.

Suddenly it struck Tony that they might not still be on the same page. Rhodey knows now that him and Pep aren’t a thing, but he doesn’t know how Tony feels. He doesn’t know that Tony knows what the picture means.

Time to test the waters.

“I’ll never forget them,” Tony answers, slowly walking towards Rhodey like he might dissolve into smoke like the thin wafts floating up from his lips each time he inhaled on his cigarette. “Swimming in the Seine, the cold stones against our backs. We felt invincible back then. All of us.”

Rhodey huffed and dropped his head, shaking it in tiny jerks. “I wouldn’t know.” He snuffed out his cigarette, closing the distance between them haltingly, like he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to do this. Tony tried his best to encourage him with his eyes.

The moment felt too long, breakable. Something so fragile held between them, pulsing to life with each breath they shared between them.

Finally, Rhodey steeled himself, dragging his gaze back up to meet Tony’s. “I only ever had eyes for you.”

Of the two of them, Tony was obviously the talker. Rhodey was a little closer to the chest, letting people know with his eyes, his hands, his heart. He talked with his niece until three in the morning and sent his mom pictures of the recipes he’d made that she had taught him, and hung pictures of the night he fell in love in his tiny apartment.

Knowing all this, seeing the creases under Rhodey’s eyes and how his hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides and how he was almost allowing himself to rock into Tony’s space, Tony knew this was it. This was how Rhodey made sure Tony knew he loved him.

Tony followed Rhodey’s lead and took the man’s face in his hands, pulling him in for a kiss as soft and warm as Rhodey’s eyes.

HIs brain - the one part of him that was always what he showed first, the part everyone needed and sought out and loved - turned off completely. His entire world, as cliche as the thought sounded even in his own head, narrowed down to the point where Rhodey’s lips touched his. They were soft and a little torn from where Rhodey bit his lip again and again during service, and tasted like Marlboro golds and felt like everything Tony had dreamed about.

He leaned into the kiss, anchoring himself with a hand around the back of Rhodey’s neck, fisted in his t-shirt. Rhodey responded in kind, threading his fingers through Tony’s hair, making the greasy strands stand straight on end, and gripping Tony’s hip so hard he thought, somewhere in the functional part of his brain, that he might get bruises later. He relished that thought, dragged it to the front and held onto it with everything he had, because that would be  _ proof _ . Proof that Rhodey was there kissing him, that he loved him, that the one thing Tony was sure was impossible finally came true.

After a few moments - maybe hours, the last time Tony lost track of time like this he was high on too many substances to name - Rhodey pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against Tony’s. They were both panting heavily, looking into each others’ eyes. Tony watched Rhodey’s eyes track his lips, his flushed cheeks, the creases around his eyes that were pushed into place by the truly ridiculous smile he was sporting. “Tony.”

Tony could only moan, melting like butter in a pan.

Rhodey huffed a laugh, closing his wonderful honey whisky eyes. “Is that all it takes to finally shut you up?”

Tony would have protested, honestly, but then Rhodey was pressing back in, gathering Tony up in his arms, and nothing would ever be able to beat that feeling - the warmth and comfort and safety and  _ everything _ that Rhodey was and always would be. He didn’t need to be anyone or do anything or prove his worth, not to Rhodey. This man had seen everything, every ugly secret Tony had ever had was held to the light in Rhodey’s palms. And, against all odds, Rhodey didn’t run away or sneer in disgust. He simply allowed it to be, snuggled safely in his hands. No one, not even Tony’s own mother, had done that for him before.

And so Tony pressed up into Rhodey’s embrace, sighed into his lips, and allowed himself to melt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just feel like not only does Peter deserve two strong independent trouble makers to have his back, but also for those two trouble makers to be best friends and them all be in a happy poly relationship together, is that too much to ask?
> 
> also I finally (finally!) got them to kiss! After 13 chapters, I feel like it was a long time coming.


	14. Pour Mieux S'unir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter was supposed to be the end, actually, then the epilogue, but I made myself a charcuterie plate for dinner with some marsala and my tipsy brain said “fuck no, you need some softness after that, bitch” so here this little bit is. Thank my tipsy brain j’suppose for this little bite of domestic bliss. Also, the title is from the song of the same name by AuDen.

Tony hadn’t woken up in Rhodey’s bed since he was twenty-five and attempting to sleep off an epic hangover. Last time, though, Rhodey slept on the couch instead of wrapped around him, arm heavy and warm and oh so perfect against his chest. They hadn’t  _ done _ anything, per se, just talked until two in the morning about how oblivious they both were before they passed out, one after the other like dominoes.

Rhodey, he was delighted to learn, still didn’t own any pajamas, preferring to sleep in a t-shirt and boxers. Tony was the opposite, having a soft pair of flannel pajamas he used at home, but here in Rhodey’s space he didn’t necessarily have them on hand. Imagine his surprise when, just before they fell into bed, Rhodey walked to his dresser and pulled out the pair he left in Paris, green and blue and so worn they were almost transparent at the seams. They were almost more obscene than wearing just boxers, Tony thought, if the way Rhodey’s eyes turned dark and hungry as soon as he put them on.

But still, they’d managed to keep their hands to themselves, mostly, aside from a few times they got so lost in each other that by the time they surfaced they hadn’t even realized they’d fallen into a seriously hot makeout session, complete with some heavy petting. Tony felt like a teenager again, sneaking boys up to his second story balcony after Jarvis fell asleep, shushing each other so they wouldn’t wake anyone up. It was somehow even better than Tony had ever imagined.

The first time he woke up, Rhodey was curled up around him, snoring softly into Tony’s shoulder. He let himself fall back asleep, safe and content for the first time in years, wrapped up in Rhodey’s arms.

The second time he woke up it was to soft music and the smell of home. More specifically, the smell of peanut butter and fresh eggs.

Tony yawned loudly as he walked out of the bedroom, still a little sleepy even after what must have been more uninterrupted hours of sleep than he’s had since Paris. Rhodey was in the kitchen, humming along and swinging his hips, bare chest dangerously close to the skillet he was moving around on the stovetop. 

“Taking a drive on the wild side?” Tony leered openly, letting his eyes wander from Rhodey’s built shoulders to his trim waist, the muscles on his back moving under the skin, the well-toned ass that was only barely hidden by the thin fabric of his boxers.

“Cooking is hot work,” Rhodey responded without turning around, “I was getting a little sweaty.”

And people said Tony’s innuendos were bad.

He sidled up behind Rhodey, wrapping his arms closely around the waist of his...best friend? Boyfriend? Lover? Soulmate?

Whatever. Words didn’t matter when he had two armfuls of hot, sweaty, half-naked Rhodey.

“How long have you been up?”

Rhodey shrugged lightly, pushing his shoulders up into Tony’s jaw briefly. The touch was like fire under Tony’s skin. Every touch Rhodey gave him felt like that. He wondered if it would ever stop, or if he would always be amazed by this man. Given they’d been best friends for over a decade, that he’d seen Rhodey at his best and his worst, kissed him and slept next to him and cleaned him up after he vomited, well. If he was still so in awe of Rhodey after everything, he didn’t think that would ever go away.

“There’s coffee for you on the counter. Splash of honey, just how you like it.”

That solved it. Tony would never stop being completely enamoured by this man who somehow saved honey in his apartment even though he hated the taste, made Tony peanut butter omelettes without being asked, danced around the kitchen to french pop songs while shirtless and mostly pantless. Smiled at Tony with that thousand-watt grin that felt like a new invention every time, lighting Tony up from the inside out.

He let go of Rhodey reluctantly, as he was near-useless before his caffeine in the morning. It was exactly how he liked it, strong enough to walk away but undercut with a splash of clover honey that brought out the flavours hiding underneath the roast.

“I love you,” He said, obviously without thinking. Not that it wasn’t true - he’d loved Rhodey since he was seventeen, lost and alone and crushing way too hard on an older man - but he didn’t necessarily mean to say it at dawn in only worn flannel pants with probably the worst case of bedhead he’d ever had.

Tony, predictably, froze.

Rhodey turned around slowly, placing the hot pan on a cold burner. He took measured steps towards Tony, like he might run away if Rhodey moved too fast. That...wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities.

Then Rhodey smiled, like the world had opened up for him with warm sunshine and acoustic indie songs and everything soft and lovely in the universe. “I know, genius.”

He leaned down and kissed Tony, still tasting vaguely of morning breath as he licked the honey off of Tony’s lips. Rhodey pulled back and made a face, scrunching his nose up adorably, and Tony couldn’t help but lean in to kiss him again.

When they finally parted, Rhodey stuck his tongue out at Tony like a kid before turning to finish their omelettes. “God, I really hate the taste of full on honey. You’re lucky I love you, Tones.”

After a while - logically, Tony knew it took about ten minutes to make two full omelettes from scratch, but his logical mind was overwhelmed by his heart screaming  _ he loves me he loves me he loves me _ \- Rhodey sat with him at the table, placing a plate in front of Tony just like his mother used to, like Jarvis and Ana did. It smelled sweet and salty and hearty and perfect, and Tony didn’t bother saying anything before digging in.

Rhodey laughed a little, shaking his head before tucking into his own boring kale and garlic salt omelette.

It was exactly what yesterday should have been - and didn’t it feel so much further than two dozen hours earlier since Hank betrayed them, since he sat on Rhodey’s wood floors longing for a love that seemed almost possible in the morning light - and something hopeful in Tony chimed in that maybe every day could be this, he could have this forever if only Rhodey would let him.

He reached out one hand across the table sheepishly. Rhodey took it like he’d been waiting for Tony to do exactly that, gracing Tony with his big open toothy smile.

Everyone would know the second they walked into work what had happened, especially if Tony looked as blissful as Rhodey did. Tony found, for the first time, that he didn’t particularly care what they thought. He was happy and in love for the first time in his life, and nothing, no probing comments from Natasha or eye-rolls from Steve or giddy exclamations from Peter could bring him down. Nothing would ever bring him down again, as long as Rhodey was by his side.

Rhodey, evidently sensing Tony’s thoughts, leaned in and kissed Tony soundly, softly, mixing his kale and garlic with Tony’s peanut butter and it absolutely should have been disgusting, but instead it was wonderful and perfect and everything Tony had imagined it would be.


	15. Avengeance (Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s hard to fit the word “avenger” into literally any non-marvel context but I tried. Also, for many years, I thought the stay puft marshmallow man from ghostbusters was the same as the michelin tyre man, so we’re projecting that one onto one of my favourite dumbasses

A few weeks had passed since the Hank Incident, as Rhodey called it, and the kitchen was back up and running smoother than it ever had. Peter was really growing into his role on garnish, Natasha had stopped glaring at the waitstaff whenever they stuttered, and even Steve had stopped grumbling over literally every task Tony gave him. He naively liked to believe that it was all because they got rid of the traitor amongst their midst, and that they had all pulled together stronger because of it. 

Realistically, he knew it was because he’d stopped snapping at them all over their every mistake. He couldn’t bring himself to snap about anything anymore, not when the world shifted under his feet so completely that he was finally on solid ground. He couldn’t be mad when he could see Rhodey wiping sweat off his brow with his sleeve, knowing when they got home TOny would have the chance to lick off the sweat that dripped into his eyes as he made him sweat over something much different than a beurre blanc, preferably into their pillows.

He’d never been able to step back and allow his chefs so much control before, but when he turned his back to deal with his own problems it seemed that they had all shaped up in their own right. Sure, they still made stupid mistakes, but not nearly as often or as disastrous anymore. It was refreshing, not having to check over his shoulder for every new betrayal. He had Rhodey behind him this time, watching his back, and any new traitors would have been revealed by now. He trusted this team completely, with his life and his restaurant (and, for the first time, there was a difference because he no longer had to channel everything into his work, he had someone to come home to for the first time).

He’s plating a scallop appetizer when Clint comes skidding into the kitchen on his trademark purple converse. He would chastise the man for them - they were unsafe for one, and hurt his eyes - but the look on his face stopped Tony before he could get the words out.

That was the only serious look he’d ever seen on Clint’s face. The one he last saw the night of Hank’s betrayal.

He raised his eyebrows, a silent question.

Clint nodded once, firmly.

Tony closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Panic threatened to rise up his throat, strangle him, but he pushed it down with a firm hand. “Michelin,” he whispered, planting his hands firmly on the pass to ground himself.

Rhodey, somehow, heard him. “Best behaviours everyone!” He shouted to the kitchen at large, “It’s time.”

Tony turned around, watching his staff fall into place at their stations, ready for another big speech. The thing was, it wasn’t necessary. They knew their roles, their stations. If they weren’t good enough to get this star as they were, then they simply weren’t good enough.

He trusted them. They would get him through, together.

He looked each of them in the eye, matching Natasha’s steel and Steve’s ice everything and everyone in between. “You know what to do.” He smiled, genuinely, and felt the tension in the kitchen melt away into something that thrummed manageably in the background.

“Who you gonna call?” Peter shouted before being wrangled back by Harley.

“That’s not the same mascot, Pete,” Harley groaned.

“No, no it is!” Peter struggled. They all watched on in amusement. “It was a tyre ad at first, I swear!”

Tony chuckled. “The guy in Ghostbusters is the Stay-Puft marshmallow man, kiddo.”

Peter frowned, deflating a little. “So, we’re not gonna call the ghostbusters, then?”

Everyone, it seemed, laughed away the rest of the tension in the kitchen. It was just another day, another service, and they would get through it, together.

Rhodey, by his side, clasped Tony’s shoulder firmly.

As if that were enough.

Tony leaned up into Rhodey’s embrace, planting a wet kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek. He pulled back, matching the soft love in Rhodey’s gaze with his own.

“For luck,” His voice was a whisper when he spoke, not wanting to shatter the moment that very well be the start of the rest of their lives.

“Let’s get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have a second epilogue drawn up that has yet to be written somewhere in the bowels of my google drive, but otherwise, this is the end! I hope you all enjoyed this journey with me, on the longest and only plot-based fic I’ve ever published. Thanks for reading!


End file.
